


Raised Spirits

by BurnerAccount



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher Being Bill Cipher, Ghost Hunters, M/M, Older Dipper Pines, Poltergeists, Poor Dipper, mansions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7023922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurnerAccount/pseuds/BurnerAccount
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper's always been into the supernatural. Especially ghosts, and hauntings.</p><p>And <i>everyone</i> says the Cipher place is haunted. </p><p>Dipper's not so sure about that... but it's worth checking out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I think… this might be a bad idea.” Wendy says, slowly, and takes a few steps backwards, towards the opened double doors, back into the night air.

Dipper turns to look at her, blinks. Weird for his friend. Usually she’s more confident. “Why’s that?”

Shifting around in place, Wendy looks around the foyer, and almost steps back over the threshold. “This place is…” She sucks in a breath, closing her eyes, and tucks her arms around herself. “Really, really creepy.”

Also weird. “What’s the problem?” Dipper takes another look around.

Sure, fine, they broke in. It’s a little illegal. But this place isn’t scary. Of all the supposedly ‘haunted’ houses Dipper’s investigated, this one has to be by far the least creepy.

The old Cipher mansion is huge, and elaborate, filled with elegant furniture older than Dipper several times over. It’s one of the biggest places in the area, and it’s been empty for decades.

But one of the previous residents put up a trust to keep it maintained, and updated. It’s not broken down, or dark. There’s still power, water, reasonably modern lighting. It’s clean, if a bit dusty. It’s been kept up by a series of caretakers for decades, though apparently it’s run through more than its fair share of them.

Nobody’s bought this place, or sold it. They get freaked out, for some reason. Everyone says it’s haunted, sure, but there’s been no supernatural phenomena. No weird events. It’s just this old, rich house that nobody’s found a use for, that someone wanted to keep up.

Dipper wouldn’t have bothered breaking in with his friend, it doesn’t seem like there’s actually a ghost - but this building chases people off like anything. Last he checked, the last person hired to keep up the place quit, shaking - even traumatized - within a week.

Nobody sticks around the Cipher place, ever, and Dipper’s not sure why. It’s worth a look, even if there is no haunting.

 

He looks around, takes a deep breath - it smells like an old, dusty house, not like blood, or decay. There’s nothing weird, it’s bright as hell with the chandelier above lit up, everything here is fancy and sort-of clean-

He sighs. This doesn’t seem too promising, as far as the supernatural goes. It doesn’t look like anything’s here. It almost seems as if someone still lives here.

“Dipper?” Wendy says, sudden. She meets his eyes, looking worried. “This place is really bad.”

Dipper takes a few steps towards her, and shuffles his feet on the carpet. Dusty, like everything. But nothing seems off about this place, besides it being empty. “What’s wrong with it?”

Wendy turns her head around, pacing around in a semicircle, half of it being out the doorway. Staring into this house, like she expects an attack. “It’s got these vibes,” Taking a second, she frowns, tensing up. “Like… I feel like staying here might be a bad idea.”

Dipper… feels nothing.

He takes another look around, maybe there’s something here he hasn’t spotted, that’d scare people…

This building is massive. Two huge double doors make the entrance, the walls are hung with paintings, the doorways are elaborate woodwork, yellow walls - been recently repainted? It looks so bright - It’s all rich and classy, nothing weird. Nothing even remotely scary. And there’s a lot of area to cover.

“Right, we’ll split up-” says Dipper.

“Wait,” Wendy interrupts, holding out a hand. “Wait. Isn’t that what people do in horror movies?” She does stride back into the mansion from the entryway, standing next to Dipper. “You know, right before someone dies?”

Dipper snorts, and shrugs. “C’mon, nothing’s going to happen. As long as we’re here, we might as well check things out.”

He and Wendy are standing on a wide black carpet that reaches from the front door to a sloping stairway, leading to the second story. Big chandelier overhead, lighting things up - a couple of small tables with lamps, a few wide benches and chairs, doors leading elsewhere - it’s surprisingly well-kept, not dilapidated or anything.

He just doesn’t get it. What’s so wrong about this house?

It’s fully furnished, it’s in good shape - hell, some of those paintings are probably really valuable. Dipper knows it’s been put up for sale before, he did his research… but for some reason, that happened only twice. And it never went anywhere. It’s been kept up by the old Cipher name, and the even older Cipher fortune, for a very, very long time. And nobody’s questioned it.

This place is weird.

“I’m heading upstairs, you can look down here.” He says, and starts tromping up the stairs to the second floor.

Behind him, he hears Wendy make an uncomfortable noise - He stops near the top step, turning to look at her. Now she’s standing at the foot of the stairs. And looking really, really nervous.

Wendy’s never this uncomfortable. She’s kicked more than a few people’s butts. This house has to have something dangerous in it, or she’d never look like that. It makes Dipper a little worried by proxy.

He shifts around a little, and asks. “Seriously, what’s the problem?”

Wendy tucks up the sleeves of her flannel shirt, frowning, sterning herself. “It feels like…” She grimaces, clenches a fist. “Ugh, I need to punch something,” At least now she sounds angry, instead of scared. She glances around again, then nods. “I’ll look around, but if I find any ghosts around here - we’re out,” She jerks a thumb at the doorway behind her. “This place sucks.”

Dipper still has no idea what she’s talking about, this is just an empty house - but he nods back. “Sure!” And really -

He pauses for a moment, as Wendy turns and heads towards one of the hallways, and cups his hands around his mouth, shouting so he’s sure she’ll hear. “But hey! Let me know if you see one!”

Smiling, she gives him a thumbs-up - and takes in a deep, steadying breath before she opens up one of the doors to a hallway, off from the main room.

When she walks in, she’s tight with tension, tapping her own flashlight against her other hand, like she could use it as a weapon.

Dipper watches in confusion.

Something about this mansion makes people want to get away from it, fast. All the people hired to go into it. The people who might want to buy it. Everything about this place seems to scare people. Including Wendy, who’s kind of badass. Maybe it’s not a ghost, but there’s got to be something strange here.

He straightens up, and heads forward. The hallway’s dark, so he brings out his flashlight, not wanting to fumble around for any lightswitches. This place has been modernized, a little, but that was a long time ago, and he’s pretty sure they didn’t get everything.

Casting the light around shows him doorways, and dust, making the light in front of him dotted with tiny specks of white. It’s been maintained, and cleaned, but nobody’s really put in the effort to make it seem like someone’s still here. Dust is everywhere, clearly nobody ever vacuums. Maybe there isn’t even one in here.

Dipper looks over the large oak doors as he wanders - There’s dozens of them. This place is huge. All of these lead off into more corridors, and other rooms- This one catches his attention.

He’s finally hit the end of this absurdly long hallway. A large door, intricately carved, almost as large as the entryway - he lifts his light, sees the sign.

It’s the library.

Dipper listens carefully - he looks around, thinking - but the whole place is silent and empty.

Well, there’s no harm in taking a quick look. Won’t get too wrapped up in reading, he’s sure, and basically nobody comes here, so even if he does? It’ll be fine. It’s not like anybody’s going to catch him, and Wendy could eventually track him down, when she gets bored.

Dipper pushes the door open, looking around - his flashlight shows him a metric ton of bookshelves - he grins.

He feels around next to the doorway, doesn’t find anything. Turning his flashlight around, he finds the lightswitch a few meters away, and flips it.

The whole place lights up, lamps around still functioning, revealing the whole room and -

Holy crap!

Dipper walks further into the room, admiring it. It must be nice to have a lot of money, because it can get you all the stuff you’ve ever wanted, and someone here really wanted an excellent library, at some point.

There’s so many books!

And there are plush, overstuffed armchairs, covered with dust sheets to protect them from aging, set in an array of circles, like they’re for discussion. This place is just as massive as the rest of this mansion - maybe it’s even one of the bigger rooms in this entire place! A few couches rest between the bookshelves. Everything’s of it’s packed between two huge walls, stacked with shelves, covered with literature.

This is one hell of a collection of works. Considering how old this place is, a lot of these things aren’t even going to be on the internet -

“Huh.” It’s a soft, curious word. 

There’s a sound like cloth moving in a sharp wave through the air.

Dipper straightens up. He feels himself tense.

 _Shit_.

There’s someone else here.

He turns, slowly, clicking his flashlight off - the library is brightly lit now, he doesn’t need it- and once he's turned, he… stares.

There’s a man.

A tall man, in a suit. Lounging, lazily, in one of the armchairs - the dust sheet that was there is gone, it’s been cast aside and lies there, rumpled, next to the chair. Whoever this is must have tossed it away before taking a seat.

Now, he’s looking at Dipper with a bored, tired expression.

“So what are you doing here?” asks the stranger. He stretches in his seat, then sets an elbow down on one of the arms, resting his cheek on his fist.

Dipper stares, a little confused, a little - finally - scared, like everyone else seems to feel when they get into this place.

He doesn’t know what to say.

He broke into this mansion, he’s not supposed to be here, and now he’s been caught. He’s going to get into some trouble. Unless he can talk his way out of it. It’s not like anyone lives here, he’s not bothering anyone, sort of, but he’s… a little screwed. And.

Dipper glances around - he only sees the one doorway, and that’s the one he just came through, he would have seen someone else following him.

Where did this person come from?

“I wonder what I’m going to do with you,” says the stranger - Dipper turns his gaze back to him - the man’s kicked his legs up over the opposite side of the chair, and he’s tucked his arms behind his head, frowning. “Gotta be some neat way to really mess with this guy.”

Dipper shifts around a bit. 

“Look,” He says, almost blurting it out. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave, I just thought-” He doesn’t know how to continue.

Weirdly, the man doesn’t respond. He turns to watch Dipper for a brief moment, then sits upright. He tilts forward in his place to look at the doorway. He pauses. And frowns, looking confused.

Then he looks around the room, and - it’s weird, he’s searching for something, and every second he doesn’t find it, he looks more frustrated. After a few moments, he gets up from his seat, and sets his hands on his hips.

“Huh,” The man says, again. This time, he sounds annoyed. His fingers tap against his thigh. “Looks like it’s a crazy one.”

This is really, really weird. Dipper…doesn’t want to get arrested, he should probably escape while he has the chance, but… this is interesting. “A crazy what?”

“Makes sense. Can’t be too sane, if he made it this far,” The guy mutters. He’s still watching the doorway. For some reason he’s not paying attention to Dipper, even though he’s finally spoken. “The aura of sheer terror usually scares ‘em off before that.”

“Sheer terror?” Dipper feels nothing, but if something like _that_ exists, it would definitely explain a lot. He starts walking towards this stranger. If he knows something, if there’s _actually_ a supernatural thing going on, he wants to know about it. “I don’t feel any aura.”

Whoever this is - whatever they’re doing here - the stranger tenses up. His hands drop to his sides.

When he turns, very, very slowly, to look at Dipper, it’s with a wide-eyed expression of... almost shock.

He looks at Dipper with clear, intense surprise. His hands reach up, then drop, then- he claps one to his face, looking immensely confused.

Dipper watches him for a second - smiles, weakly - and squirms, sort of uncomfortable - “Look, I know I’m not supposed to be here, but -” He hesitates, and - it’s really weird, but the stranger starts walking away, facing him the whole time, and staring at him, intense.

The guy walks around Dipper in a half-circle. Dipper keeps his gaze on him, because everything about this person’s behavior is really weird, and he’s dressed like something from almost a century ago, and he has no goddamned idea how he got in this room. Is this one of those caretakers? Who else would be here? And why hasn’t this person kicked him out yet?

It takes a long, long moment. But finally, the man - he takes a second, again, mouth working - then asks.

“Who is this?”

Whoever this person is, they’re… not distressed that Dipper’s here, but they’re definitely upset about something.

Dipper clears his throat, shuffling in place. “Uh - My name’s Dipper. Sorry, I really know I’m not supposed to-” Really shouldn’t have broken in, maybe he shouldn’t have even told this person his name.

But almost the instant Dipper starts saying something, the stranger storms forward. He stands just a pace away from Dipper, and his gaze draws over him.

“You’re talking to me.” He states. His tone is flat, and... this is the most focused look Dipper's ever been subjected to.

“Who else would I be talking to?” Dipper leans away, swallowing dryly. Something weird's going on, and this man is... a little creepy. “There’s nobody else here.” This man gets right up close. Standing within inches of him, and he still looks incredibly intense, it kind of makes Dipper cringe.

And when he suddenly snaps his fingers in front of Dipper’s face, unexpected, it makes him flinch back in surprise. For some reason, that means this person - he’s kind of a jerk, Dipper takes a few steps away -

This guy starts to grin. Very, very wide. And pleased. 

“Hello there,” The stranger says, slowly. He steps even closer -

Dipper backs away, and that makes this person even happier for some reason- Dipper keeps backing up, and falls into the uncovered armchair, plopping into the seat. In front of him, this dapperly dressed guy grins, arms tucked behind his back, leaning towards him and looking about as delighted as anyone Dipper’s ever seen.

“Bill Cipher,” says - Bill, apparently - “I own this place,” And, amazingly, he gives a little bow. “Pleasure to meet you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bill Cipher strides across from Dipper to one of the other armchairs - the one across from the one Dipper’s been backed into. He whips off the dust sheet with a smile, and settles down, crossing one leg over the other.

Leaning forward, elbow resting on his knee - Bill grins harder. “A trespasser, huh? You have some nerve.”

Dipper hasn’t been frightened by the… vibes everyone else seems to feel. But this man apparently owns the place, and Dipper’s been caught breaking in red-handed.

Wendy was right, this was a bad idea.

Bill looks casually around, and waves an arm over the massive bookshelves, and fancy furniture. “Tell me, kid. What’s so interesting about my humble little home that made you think _that_ was a good plan?”

…This is the least humble building Dipper has ever seen besides a monument. He ignores the understatement.

“Well… you said something about an aura of fear, right?” starts Dipper, tapping his fingers against his own chair. It’s soft. “So… “ He isn’t sure what to say, but across from him, Bill nods. He’s very focused on Dipper, it’s… a bit unnerving.

Dipper sighs, and keeps talking, hands clenching on his thighs. “Okay, so I know nobody ever stays here, and I couldn’t figure out why, because as far as I can tell nobody’s died here in a long time,” He couldn’t find a specific date for the last event, or even if there _were_ any - “So I just thought I’d check it out to see if there was…”

It sounds dumb to admit. Dipper pauses. He knows it’s a ridiculous thing to be interested in.

Bill keeps watching him, waiting. “See if there was…” He rolls a hand in the air promptingly, still grinning.

No point in avoiding it. Dipper slumps in his seat.

“I’ve always wanted to see a ghost, and I’ve never found one,” Dipper admits, shrugs, and he’s an idiot, he knows they probably don’t exist - “And this was maybe a place where one could be, and,” He facepalms in embarrassment. “So I broke in to check.”

“You broke in,” Bill says slowly, tapping his foot against the ground.

“Just to check!” Dipper protests, straightening his back, holding his hands up in protest. “I wasn’t going to do anything but look,” He makes to get up - “I’ll just-”

But Bill just shakes his head, slow, grin dropping, and Dipper settles back, muscles tense.

He can’t tell if this man is either being friendly or vaguely threatening. And he’s not about to take any chances.

“Hey, hey, ease up,” adds Bill, leaning back and relaxing. “I’m…a bit of a troublemaker myself,” He sounds amused, the grin spreads again over his face. “I get it! You’re fine.”

Well, Dipper hasn’t touched anything he shouldn’t. And Bill must have noticed, wherever he came from. He sounds honest, and interested. Maybe he doesn’t mind some harmless crime. That’s a relief. Dipper settles back himself - the armchair’s actually pretty comfortable, anyway.

“I’m sorry.” An apology feels necessary - but Bill just shakes his head again, still  smiling.

“Oh no, no, no! I don’t mind, really. But you should know you were wrong, kid,” Bill says cheerfully, as he kicks his legs up over the other arm of the chair. “Trust me, there’s not a single ghost here.”

Dipper shuts his eyes, and lowers his head.

Now he’s been caught breaking and entering. The owner of the place is right here, talking to him. He’s not currently in trouble, but this was a total waste of time, for way too much risk. Dipper should have-

Bill continues over Dipper’s disappointment without a beat. “No, what’s in this place is a _poltergeist_. Technically a ghost! But different, entirely.”

Dipper looks up.

Bill’s gotten a book, somehow, he didn’t see one near the guy before - or hear Bill get up from his seat. He tosses the book in his hand a few times, a little playfully - then throws it at Dipper. When he catches it, grunting, giving Bill a glare - that wasn’t necessary - the owner smiles even wider.

“If you got an interest in this stuff, you might know a bit. Moves things around. Makes blood on the walls,” Bill sits more upright in his plush armchair, his antique suit frames his shape well, it's snugly tailored. “Few other things, but most important!” He holds up one imperious finger. “Not some mindless thing moaning ‘oh no, I was murdered’ all the time, like your usual. Totally different class of spirit.”

Dipper takes a look down at the book in his hands. It’s a thick, leatherbound volume with gold embossing. It’s titled ‘The Bridge Between Life and Death’. He opens the heavy cover, flips through - only skimming for the moment - but a lot of this matches up with what he has in his notes. If there’s more… this place is a treasure trove of information about the spiritual world.

“Wait, so you…” He glances around the massive bookshelves, closing the one he's holding, gripping it tight. He’s never seen this book before, or heard of it, it's obviously valuable, extremely rare - and this collection is _huge,_ so - He asks. “Do you have more like this?”

“Tons,” Bill says, and chuckles a little. “Used to be real into it, oh…” He frowns, his lips purse. “Well, a while ago. But I gave it up.”

Dipper runs his thumbs over the cover of the book he’s holding in both hands, suddenly curious. The leather is a bit stiff with age, cool under his touch. “Why quit? Lose interest?”

Bill takes a deep breath, then sighs it out just as hard. He seems tired, and annoyed. “Dangerous area of study, kid. Doesn’t always work out too well.” He glares at the bookshelves, arms crossing.

Of course, it makes sense. If a Cipher was dabbling around with spirits, messing with the afterlife- Dipper’s never been able to do it, didn’t think it was possible, but if it is… he knows what happened.

“You ended up with a poltergeist in your house.” Dipper shakes his head, disbelieving. What an awful outcome.

Bill starts laughing.

Then laughing harder, chest shaking. And then even harder, almost hysterically. He’s arched back, clutching himself.

Dipper watches for a second, then… starts getting worried again. This guy alternates between friendly and creepy and weird, without any rhyme or reason. It takes a bit, but… Bill calms down, after a few short bursts of snickering. He shakes himself and clears his throat, tapping himself on the chest with a fist.

“Yeah! Something like that. And he’s a strong one,” Bill’s smiling, looking a little too happy, considering his house is haunted. He waves a hand, still chuckling, and gets up from his seat. “Anyway, he’s still around, and nobody lives in a place with that kind of spirit.”

Dipper looks around the library skeptically. That would explain some things, but it doesn’t match up with everything he knows.

“I haven’t seen evidence of anything really supernatural happening here. Only little things. You know. Rumors.” He arches an eyebrow. “You sure there’s something around, or are you-”

A derisive snort interrupts him. Bill’s staring at Dipper in a kinda weird way, he taps a finger against his chin. “I’m one hundred percent sure. He just hasn’t been up to much lately. Nothing interesting to do! But I know that’s going to change. Today.”

Bill apparently did study this for a while… But that’s a very specific timeframe.

“You’re sure about that?”

Nodding, Bill looks very serious. He moves a finger over his chest - “Cross my heart and hope to die. Something’s gonna happen, really soon.”

And he smiles.

There’s such confidence in that face, and so many people say the same thing about the Cipher Mansion, and here’s a person who not only owns the place, but has the same interest in the topic Dipper does - it’s.The vibes this building gives off _must_ be real, even Wendy reacted to them. It’s probably from the haunting itself. This might be the real thing, an _actual_ haunted house.

Dipper’s starting to feel excited, he stands up, still clutching the book in both hands. “Look, I’ve got a lot of questions, like…” What to ask first, he doesn’t know where to start. “Have you ever seen it? I mean… him.”

“Have I seen him?” Bill claps his hands together, and starts walking over the plush carpet towards Dipper. “Oh man, I see him all the time!” He tilts his head, seeming pleased, even fascinated. Bill watches Dipper with a kind of interest he’s never been subjected to before. He hums, briefly, eyes narrowing - but still looking happy. “Never met anyone else who could, though.”

“Really?” This is amazing, Dipper could actually make some progress, find some real evidence -

But apparently the thing’s invisible, so. Not much way to get information. Unless…“What’s going to happen?” Maybe Bill knows?

Bill frowns at that, thinking. He takes a few steps closer, to stand right in front of Dipper, and looks him over critically.

“Hm. That’s a tough call.” He lets out a slow, annoyed breath, and starts to pace, inside the circle of armchairs. Bill snaps his fingers a few times, frowning as he paces. “This takes some thinking about. Gotta find the right thing. Gimme a second.”

Dipper settles back down in the armchair, because it’s comfortable. That, and Bill’s looking completely lost in thought, muttering inaudibly to himself as he paces, back and forth, and back again. This might take a while. Maybe Bill has… some kind of sense for this? Able to tell when the haunting’s going to happen? This is his family’s house, and he’s part of the family, and the poltergeist is likely tied to the house. Some kind of connection?

He sets the book down on one arm of his seat, clasping his hands together and waiting, eagerly. This is the closest Dipper’s ever gotten to an actual, _genuine_  ghost. Even if it doesn’t pan out in the end, this was worth all the trouble to get in here.

After a few minutes of pacing - Dipper tracks Bill the whole time - there’s a long, groaning sigh, and Bill stops in front of Dipper, staring at the bookcases.

“Wish I had any idea how this was…” He starts, glances at Dipper again, and glares, for some reason. Dipper leans away, into the soft cushioning of the armchair. Bill just grumbles to himself at that, looking off at the bookshelves again. Crossing his arms, and looking sulky.

Guess he’s having a lot of trouble. With… whatever it is he’s trying.

God, does Dipper ever sympathize. He’s been doing the ghost hunting thing for a while, and never found anything. For someone who actually _has_ seen a spirit, who knows how they work, having a tough time locating one must be ten times as frustrating.

Dipper stands up, and walks over to where Bill’s standing - the owner gives him a glance, still looking a little lost.

“I know what it’s like. Don’t worry if you can’t find him, it’s not like it’s unusual,” Dipper says, smiling, and pats his hand against Bill’s shoulder-

He pauses, keeping himself still.

Because now Bill’s turned to stare at him, eyes wide, and is that a threat, or just interest, or surprise, Dipper can’t tell, but now he’s wondering if he’s done something really offensive, or maybe now he’s going to get into trouble when before Bill was being lenient - he’s frozen, can’t move.

Bill’s staring at him, and Dipper’s hand is still resting on him, and Bill’s back is firm, he’s got some muscle. Dipper squeezes his hand involuntarily, anxious - and Bill leans away, his eyes suddenly wide, and confused -

Oh crap, he might not have liked that, “I - sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you-” Dipper yanks his hand away and tries to back off. But Bill suddenly steps in close. Really, _really_ close, Dipper has to lean back to not be pressed up against him.

Oh god, this guy’s going to do something.

“Is… something wron-” Before he can finish asking, Bill grabs his hand. Flinching, Dipper cringes - for some reason, he almost expects a broken finger, but.

Bill strokes his thumb over Dipper’s palm, clasping it carefully. 

Slowly, almost admiringly, he brings his other hand up to cup Dipper’s, gripping it between both of his own. And simply, wonderingly, stares. Dipper clears his throat.

Okay, weird. Really weird.

“I didn’t mean to offend you-” His hand gets squeezed tightly, not quite painfully, and Dipper quiets down. He’s not sure what to say. What the hell is going on? His hand is clasped in Bill’s, and now the guy is staring at him, squeezing Dipper’s hand between his own. Bill keeps watching him for a moment. Then he draws Dipper’s arm up, pressing the palm of Dipper’s hand to his face.

And Bill slides his cheek against Dipper’s palm, slow, almost nuzzling. His shoulder rise and he leans into it, pressing closer, and he lets out a sudden, pleased sigh.

“I can _feel_ you,” And the tone of Bill’s voice is like a groan. He draws Dipper’s hand over his face more, against his neck, onto his shoulder, forces it to brush down his chest. “I can _feel_ this.”

Dipper lets him do it. Bill feels... a little cool to the touch, and he’s being really, really weird, but Dipper also doesn’t want to cause too much trouble, and this is… strange, but harmless. He feels like he should protest, but… this isn’t much? It’s just his hand - being drawn up Bill’s neck again, cupping his cheek, and now the guy just presses into it, eyes closed, sighing - Bill’s completely absorbed by this simple touch. It’s weird as hell.

Dipper’s confused, but too interested to stop him, and Bill’s being oddly gentle at the moment, for all that he seems occasionally threatening. Bill meets his eyes for a few seconds, face pressed tight into Dipper’s palm, eyes half-lidded -

And suddenly lets him go.

“Actually, now that I think of it,” Bill strides away, leaving Dipper confused, his arm dropping once it’s no longer held - and Bill’s smirk returns. “I know what’s going to happen.”

What was _that_?

Dipper stares at the hand that was touching this aristocrat. There’s nothing unusual about it. And now - he glances up - Bill’s tapping his cane against the ground, looking at Dipper eagerly. Where did he get that thing? And he’s acting casual. Like none of the events of moments ago ever went down.

Maybe having a ghost around makes you a little crazy, because Bill seems like he’s not all there.

“Tell you what, kid,” Bill twirls his cane in his hand, smiling. “You’re interested in this place. You like spiritual stuff. And I know there’s gonna be some phenomena happening in just a minute,” He winks. “Stay for a while! I’ll show you the grand tour.”

This also seems like it might be a bad idea… but where the hell else is Dipper ever going to see this kind of stuff? If nothing happens, he can always leave. Bill’s very weird, but he’s also interesting, and maybe it’s just living in, or near, or connected to the house that’s making him so strange.

Dipper kind of feels bad for Bill. It must really suck having such a nice place, haunted, and if that haunting affects your mind - it must, because everyone gets driven away - that’s _worse_. That’s horrible. It could drive you completely insane.

And, fine, Dipper wants to know more about the ghost, and with the owner around, who’s going to complain about the break-in? As far as anyone knows, he’s a guest, not a trespasser.

“That sounds pretty good,” he admits, after a few seconds. He offers Bill a weak smile. “Show me around, I’m curious.”

Bill beams at him, and waves around. “Well,” He says, with a little bit of modesty, bowing slightly. “In my opinion, you’ve already seen the best room!” Dipper agrees with him on that, this library is awesome. “But…”

And now Bill stalks forward, and presses his hand against the middle of Dipper’s back. It makes him tense a bit, but - he's only steered towards the doorway, and he relaxes. Just a friendly gesture, if a bit close.

“First, I’ll just show you a few things up here, we can get to the first floor later,” starts Bill, sounding pleased. He steers them both towards the doorway to the library, and they walk together towards it. “The portrait gallery’s boring, but there’s a few interesting servant’s quarters, some interesting artifact collections, the armory-”

“And a poltergeist,” adds Dipper. Sure, this place probably has all kinds of interesting things, but there’s just one he’s really focused on.

“All the more reason to go exploring!” Bill says brightly. They’re almost to the exit to the library. Dipper feels fingers drumming against his ribs, but he ignores them, and follows. “You want to see some ghost action, it’s gonna go on, very, very soon. But who knows where! You’re more likely to see something, the more I show you around!”

As they reach the doorway, Bill pushes it open.The door creaks as it slides under Bill’s free hand, cane hanging off his elbow, and he turns to grin at Dipper. “And I think I’d like to show you the master bedroom later. I think you’d enjoy…” He grins, sharp, and smug. “The _decor_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As those who follow my tumblr know, I have a backlog of chapters, so. Updates aren't going to be super fast after a while. Thought I'd toss 'em up here while I'm in the editing mood, is all.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything the Cipher family has? Aims for being the most over-the-top thing possible. There is so. Freaking. Much. Here.

Dipper slides a hand over the wall, looking at the exhibits, and feels himself cringe. Bill strides through the room in front of Dipper, and fondly pats the neck of a giraffe’s head, mounted against the wall. It’s a vast collection - there are a lot of heads.

The trophy room is making Dipper feel really uncomfortable.

There are entire stuffed bodies of smaller animals on shelves, a few larger - mostly predatory ones - on display on tables - Surely Bill can show off in a better way, he seems eager to impress, and Dipper’s not really into taxidermy.

Dipper gives him a weak smile. “This, uh. It’s…” He looks around. He’s almost entirely sure that some of these animals are endangered, but… they’re old as hell, killed a long time ago, back when that kind of thing was acceptable. It still bugs him.

“This is -” He hesitates, but asks anyway. “I think I’d like to see something else.”

Bill snorts, amused. The request hasn’t bothered him - he even gives Dipper a smile. “Sure, if this isn’t what you’re into? I own all kinds of stuff!” He waves back at the doorway behind them. “We got weapons, jewelry, paintings - we got tons of stuff for you to look at!”

“One of those things,” Dipper says instantly. “Please.”

Bill shrugs, and strides back towards him, still smiling. “Yeah, we all got our different tastes. I get it!” He gives Dipper a wink, then sets a hand on his shoulder, turning him slowly back towards the doorway.

Bill’s been touching Dipper pretty much constantly - a few pokes in the ribs, a nudge on the back, a guiding hand on his arm. Careful brushes against Dipper, as he's led him around. It was a little unsettling. _Bill_ is unsettling. Though for all the strangeness, all the touching -

Dipper was weirded out for a few minutes, but he guesses Bill’s just one of those people who’s a close talker. Bill is a little touchy-feely, it’s strange, but it’s not bad. It almost feels companionable. Like they’re friends. Dipper broke in, but with Bill’s closeness and cheerful attitude, it makes him feel… welcome. It’s kind of nice.

It’s also nice that he’s getting to see this mansion without worrying about getting into trouble.

Bill apparently owns this house, so despite the fact that Dipper did something illegal, he’ll be fine. This building is still so strange. It’s so dusty, there’s not any servants, except those who come in occasionally to keep things up, and those change out so fast - something’s going on here, he can almost feel it.

Dipper trails behind Bill, letting the arm on back slip away. He watches as Bill opens the door, walking into the brightly lit hallway. Apparently Bill knows where all the lightswitches are, because the lights were already on as they left the library.

Maybe Bill’s an okay guy, maybe he’s creepy. Dipper’s got a lot of questions for him, and not just about where everything is. Bill knows tons about this house, he's certain. Dipper doesn’t know what’s going on, but there is _something_ here -

He glances back at the trophy room.

He watches, eyes widening, and feels his muscles tense.

That giraffe head Bill was touching looks like it’s stained on the neck. The lips start looking darker, and a drop falls to the floor from between its lips, red, and bright.

There’s a wet sound all around, and when Dipper turns his head to look- he starts backing up rapidly towards the doorway, focused forward, hand clapped over his mouth.

It’s a slow drip, but from the mouths and eyes of all the animals, blood is starting to trail down, in slow, thick, drops, starting to puddle on the floor underneath them, and for a second Dipper swears he sees the heads turn _towards_ him-He shouts in surprise.

Holy crap, this is insane, there might _actually_ be a poltergeist here. And those things are dangerous, he knows that, it’s _right here_ with him and he’s got no idea what it’s going to do-

Dipper darts out of the room into the hallway, heart thundering - and almost smacks right into Bill, who’s standing there, examining his nails. Dipper stumbles to a halt before he runs into Bill. The owner looks up at him, curious. Wait, what if - he hadn’t actually expected something to manifest, what if they’re in _danger_? Bill knows this spirit, so. Dipper runs a hand through his hair. His breath is heaving hard in his chest.

He points behind himself, Bill needs to see this. He tries to be eloquent, and ends up just saying. “ _Look_.”

Bill’s looking at him with an odd expression. For a brief instant, he smirks, then his brows furrow, and he cocks his head to the side. “What’s the matter, kid?”

“What’s the matter? What’s the _matter_? There’s-” Dipper wheels back around to the doorway to point it out what’s completely obvious-

The trophy room looks. Normal.

No blood. Nothing looking at him, totally unchanged.

That _can’t_ be right, Dipper _knows_ what he saw, that can’t have just _disappeared_. 

He braces a hand on the doorframe, and cautiously, carefully leans in, peeking his head through the doorway, pulse still racing.

But the room… Looks fine. Aside from still being disturbing, for other reasons. He backs up, shaking his head -

And bumps into Bill with a start. The guy was right behind him. Bill lets out a hum, leaning in, almost over Dipper’s shoulder. “Doesn’t seem strange to me.”

“I- I saw _something_ ,” Dipper squirms a little. That there was something there, didn’t Bill say poltergeists made blood? That was blood, he knows it was, it was dripping everywhere, and now it’s gone? “I thought there was…” He doesn't know what to say, trailing off. How could he explain that?

“Hey, maybe you did!” Bill pulls away, walks a little further down the hallway, huffing out an amused laugh. “I told you, stuff’s gonna happen around here today! You’ll probably see all kinds of phenomena.” He motions for Dipper to follow, intent on some other thing to show off.

Dipper walks behind his host, feeling a little dazed. Still casting glances back at the room as they walk down the length of the hall.

He’s not scared… but it’s making him nervous. Is this the way the house is affecting his mind? Or if that was the ghost, then… Dipper groans, pausing in his steps to slap a hand over his face.

Bill stops to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“I didn’t see it,” Dipper sighs heavily. If that _did_ really happen - The ghost in here truly _is_ invisible, all Dipper saw were the _effects_. “No poltergeist. Just a bunch of blood, and I’m not even sure _that_ was real.”

“Hey, that’s no big deal! He probably wasn’t even in the room at the time!” Bill says, happily, even grinning. He’s weirdly cheerful, when he’s not being straight-up weird. Bill laughs quietly to himself, and motions again down the hallway with his cane before he keeps walking. “And I’m willing to bet that was entirely real, kid.”

“Why do you say that?” Dipper hurries to catch up to Bill, jogging briefly to walk by his side. “I mean-” If the owner didn't see it, then how can he be sure?

“These things come and go, y’know, whenever he wants,” Bill says easily, smiling and clapping his arm around Dipper’s shoulders. He pokes Dipper in the chest with his cane. “It’s just ectoplasm. Real blood’s a lot harder to come by.”

Dipper squirms under Bill’s grip, and shoves the poking thing away from himself - Bill chuckles quietly, and the cane tapping against the ground resumes.

“How do you know so much about this?” Wait, no, Bill’s interested - _was_ interested - in this as much as Dipper, and with a real ghost to study... Maybe he’s got a better idea because of that, or because of Bill’s connection to the house. Dipper stares at the carpet as Bill leads him along.

Something’s not quite right here, but he can’t put his finger on it.

“I thought nobody…” He looks at Bill, still striding next to him, leading him to another luxurious room. The owner’s looking forward, small smile on his face, humming a quiet tune to himself. “Where’d you come from? Everyone says nobody’s lived in this building for decades.”

Bill gives him a glance, then cackles. “Of course I don’t _live_ here! But it’s my place, I can do what I like with it! I thought I’d show up today,” He gives Dipper a slight squeeze around the shoulders. His smile is almost predatory. “Something caught my interest.”

That makes Dipper take in a sharp breath, though he tries to let it out slowly. How’d Bill find out about the break in? It wasn’t planned _that_ far in advance, only Dipper knew, until he’d invited Wendy along. Or… was it just the poltergeist starting to act up again, something about that spirit, that drew Bill here?

Dipper may have had really good timing - seeing ghost activity, that’s amazing - or really bad, seeing as he got caught by the guy who can sense it. He’s lucky that Bill’s friendly-ish.

“So, what interesting-”

“Here we go!” Interrupts Bill, ignoring Dipper’s question as he swings another door open. “One of the lounges.” He strides inside, still humming something to himself. Dipper follows in careful, quiet steps, while Bill strides in with confidence.

The lights are already on in this room. Someone must have forgotten to turn them off. Or... right, this is just where Bill was, earlier, before he followed Dipper into the library.

It’s as lavish as anything else, but different from the other rooms Bill’s shown Dipper. Not huge, and elaborate, but small, everything close together. Intimate. Paintings, like there are everywhere, strewn over richly deep-red walls. Just as opulent as all the other Cipher rooms. Another couple of bookshelves - someone in the Cipher family was a big reader - a glass-paned cabinet full of bottles and glasses, equipped with a low shelf. Several couches - he watches as Bill yanks another dust sheet off one. The one closest to… a large piece of furniture, it’s the absolute center of the room.

“Have a seat, kid,” Bill gives him another grin and motions at the couch. He runs a hand over the largest cloth-covered object, looking pleased. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent audience.”

Bill slides away all the coverings - pulls some cloth away from the keys -

It’s a piano.

Well, this could be… nice. If Bill’s any good. Dipper almost smiles, walking in more confidently and settling down on the couch. Old, again, and a little musty, but just as comfortable as the chairs in the library. Unused or not, the furniture's great. Someone here had a taste for comfort, once upon a time.

Bill opens the lid of the grand piano, still humming some kind of tune to himself - adjusts a few things inside - then he strokes up along the keys, listening to the long, rising string of notes, and starts smiling again.

“So! Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Bill says, scooting the bench out to sit on it, and tapping out a few notes. He seems to be deciding what to play. “Dipper, was it? Got a last name? Family?” He turns his head to give Dipper a wink. “Lady friends?”

Dipper lets himself relax, but only by a bit. Too much information about himself, and this guy could track him down, easy, if he decided to press charges - but Bill's not looking at him. He's barely paying attention, and he's... he seems okay with Dipper being around. He goes for it. Not like someone this rich couldn't find him out anyway, if he really wanted to.

“Uh, I’m Dipper Pines, I’ve got - my parents are in California, but here, I’ve a couple great uncles, and a twin sister-” Bill had been tapping out a tune, but he misses a note, and sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bit of a perfectionist, Dipper guesses.“No girlfriend or boyfriend, though.” He adds, with a smile, as Bill tries to recover from his misstep- And suddenly fumbles even harder, the keys clanging. “But what about you? What’s this-”

Bill ignores the question entirely, as he turns towards Dipper, smiling wide.

“Now _that’s_ good. _Thought_ you might be the type,” He says, and strides away from the piano, opening the cabinet and looking over the bottles - he picks out a couple of glasses, glancing at Dipper again, looking obscenely pleased. “Something of a… confirmed bachelor. Aren’tcha?”

“Uh,” Alright, so Dipper hasn’t had a lot of dates. He could get one if he wanted! He’s just been…busy. “Yeah, somewhat.”

It makes Bill laugh, again, and he sets the glasses down on the shelf. He frowns, briefly, before picking a bottle, and pouring some kind of amber liquid into both of them. He walks over to Dipper, offering one. Dipper takes it and takes a whiff of it - whiskey? Scotch? He’s not sure.

“Don’t worry, I don’t judge!” Bill says easily, seemingly pleased with his good hospitality - and heads over to settle back down on the piano bench, leaving his own drink on the cabinet shelf. He casts a sly glance back at Dipper. His smile has strange hint to it. “I happen to be one myself.” There’s a weird tone to that last sentence. Bill laces his fingers together, stretching his arms forward and cracking his knuckles.

Dipper stares into his glass - some kind of delicate crystal, or glass - and takes a sip. He immediately coughs - god it’s strong - and holds the glass in his lap. Bill looks back at him.

“Thanks, but, um. I’m not much of a drinker.” Dipper says, with an awkward smile.

“That’s funny, kid,” says Bill, grinning, as he rests his fingers on the keys again. “I thought you were into spirits!”

That's so - Dipper snorts, a little, but he can’t help but smile. Bill catches his expression, smiles back, and starts playing.

Bill starts off with a jaunty tune, happy and bright. It’s well-played, and when Bill starts singing, it’s - he’s on key, even though his voice is a little strange. Not bad at all. Dipper leans further back against the couch, clasps the chilly glass of liquor in his hands, and enjoys it, feeling himself smile. Bill’s got some talent, and it’s truly pleasant to listen to. Though.. the subject is a little strange. Kinda... violent? Maybe Bill's trying to be funny.

This is turning out to be more interesting than Dipper’d thought. He had imagined getting bored half an hour into looking at this place, and wandering back out. Or getting caught by one of the caretakers, and having to run like hell to avoid trouble.

Instead, he’s found the owner.

Thankfully, Bill’s - not exactly friendly, not exactly creepy- Bill’s. Well, he’s _something_ , anyway, but he’s not about to get Dipper into trouble. He even seems _happy_ Dipper’s here. Bill’s a pretty decent host - strange, weird, but  amiable - And somewhere, in this huge, elaborate place….

There’s a ghost. An actual, _real_ , ghost. Probably. Which- Dipper stumbles up from the couch, and the glass he was holding falls from his grip, shattering on the carpet, liquor spilling everywhere.

Bill stops playing, glancing over in annoyance, but Dipper doesn’t care.

“Oh god, _Wendy_ ,” He turns towards Bill, who’s looking extremely annoyed, fingers resting lightly on the piano keys. Dipper has to explain. “Look, uh, I’m not the only person here,” he adds, tensing slightly. He looks around - _phenomena_ , Bill said there would be some, he’s only seen the one, but - “I brought my friend, Wendy. She’s back on the first floor, I asked her to look around there.”

Bill gives him a look that Dipper can’t read. It’s very blank. “Really.” Bill says, neutral.

“Yeah, really, and- look, if there really _is_ a ghost, she might get into trouble,” Dipper insists, moving closer to his host. He doesn't know what to do, but Bill knows this stuff, he could help out. “I gotta go find her. C’mon, we should-”

But instead of looking helpful - Bill surges up, catching Dipper by the wrist, stopping him from heading out of the room. His face is serious, almost glaring. “Wait.”

The tone he’s suddenly taken is back to being intimidating, and Dipper freezes in place. Bill’s hand is tight around his arm.

Bill keeps a tight, not-quite painful grip on Dipper’s arm, and closes his eyes, humming to himself again softly. He peeks an eye open at Dipper, briefly, then shuts it again. He’s frowning, he’s concentrating - Dipper holds still, waiting for something to go on - but after almost half a minute, Bill’s eyes are slightly open, just staring off into space. He’s taking a while to do… whatever it is he’s doing.

It takes a few moments, and Bill seems a little frustrated, a little indecisive - then he looks at Dipper again, glancing around the room.

Dipper tries to pull away, just gently. He doesn’t want to upset Bill, the guy may be friendly… but he's also intimidating. “I just don’t want her to get into trouble," He says, finally. "And if there’s a poltergeist here, I should-”

Bill laughs, interrupting Dipper’s sentence. He quiets down, watching Bill - who’s watching him in return. There’s a long, few, tense seconds - then Bill smiles, almost fondly.

“I wouldn’t worry about her!” He lets go of Dipper’s wrist, and pats him on the arm heavily. “Probably she’s run outta here by this point, what with the fear aura and all. You can catch up with her later,” And he leans in close. “She’ll be fine.”

That reassurance makes Dipper relax, somewhat. He’s still worried. That fear this house causes isn’t something to mess with, not if it’s so strong.

“I don’t know…” He’s not sure what to ask. “Are you sure? If this thing is strong, like you said - couldn’t it _hurt_ someone?”

Asking that only makes Bill laugh again, chortling as he goes back to the piano, tapping out the first few notes of some kind of song - maybe it’s swing, Dipper thinks, he’s not all that into music but it’s sort of familiar.

“Oh, sure, easily! But that’s not an issue. _You’ve_ got all of the ghost attention right now. Won’t have time to spare for someone else,” Bill says, smirking. As he keeps playing, he heaves a long, satisfied sigh. “I mean, c’mon. Look behind you.”

Because _that_ isn’t disturbing at all.

Though it sounds like Bill’s just fucking with him.... Dipper rolls his eyes, and despite himself, turns around.

He immediately joins Bill on the bench, butt thumping down and scooting along the polished wood, leaning up close. Bill doesn't move at all, even as their shoulders touch, and Dipper leans against him, hard, staring wide-eyed at the opposite wall.

It’s _bleeding_.

Just like in the trophy room, only instead of it coming out of animal heads, it’s coming out in slow droplets, beads of bright red welling up through the paint until their surface tension breaks, and they trickle down -

And they’re spelling out _his name_.

All over, the trails start forming letters, and they trickle, they spread, they all spell out ‘DIPPER, DIPPER, DIPPER’, in capital letters, starting out huge and getting smaller as the wall runs out of space -

Dipper’s started actually clinging to Bill now, who seems entirely calm about this entire _completely fucked_ situation, still playing a cheerful tune as the gore keeps seeping down the drywall.

“ _Please_ tell me you see this.” Asks Dipper, voice flat. Or maybe this house _does_ drive people mad, and it’s doing it to him now -

Bill just laughs.

“What, your name on the walls? Yeah, I see it too,” The drink - Bill's drink - on the cabinet shelf starts floating up, and up - - then it darts towards them - Dipper scoots closer to Bill, grabs onto his jacket - and it falls. That glass shatters as well. Bill tucks an arm around Dipper’s waist. The music stops as he does so, and Dipper’s more than happy to lean in tightly against his host this time.

“Like I just said,” says Bill, cheerful. He gives Dipper a little squeeze, then draws his arm back, going back to playing. “You got _all_ the attention. Don’t worry too much,” A soft chuckle. “You’re in good hands here.”

This is more than a little embarrassing. Dipper's just met this guy and he's already squishing up against him out of some... reasonably harmless ghost actions. On the other hand... it's a _poltergeist,_ they're not exactly known for being _nice._  Bill seems like the only person who knows about this, and maybe he’s got defenses, or something. Best to stick close.

It's not like Bill _minds_ , anyway. He does a lot of touching himself, and even though Dipper's squished up against him, their sides tight together, he's gone on to playing another song, completely peaceful. Almost happy.  

Dipper has always wanted to see a ghost. He's never truly  _believed_ in them, but it'd be so cool to find one! And... 

He stares at the shattered remains of the formerly floating glass. At the bright-red words on the wall, liquid and trickling.

The _real_ thing is.

It’s one thing to watch a movie, or some TV, and see something unnatural, and a _completely different one_  when it’s dripping in front of your _face_ , spelling out your _name_.

Bill’s a little cool to the touch, but he’s calm, and steady, absolutely certain. It helps Dipper feel calmer himself, because that sure as _shit_ wasn’t a natural phenomena, and he’s starting to be spooked. Maybe Bill can protect him. He’s got a sense for this sort of thing, and he even seems to like Dipper’s company -

After a second of thought, Dipper also digs his phone out of his pocket and takes as many pictures of those words as he can, because hell knows when he’ll ever see something like this again.

He gets a bunch, and oh man, the words in blood - ectoplasm? Blood-ectoplasm - show up perfectly in the photos, it’s so cool - though already the words are starting to disappear, in vague wisps of white mist.

Dipper grins - he caught this before it vanished, that’s amazing - then remembers -

Oh. Right. Poltergeist. They’re supposed to be mischievous, if not downright malicious, and this is one that knows his name, and is apparently fascinated by him. That can’t be good.

He’s terrified. And he’s excited. And…

And he really hopes Bill’s accurate about how the poltergeist behaves, because - He _really_ doesn’t want to get Wendy in trouble. Given a physical opponent, he’d bet on her, every time, but an invisible, intangible being can’t exactly get punched in the face.

That, and if Wendy finds out there is a ghost here, she’ll drag Dipper away in an instant, and he’ll never get to the bottom of this mystery. And this could be one _hell_ of a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don't normally write Dipper this dense.
> 
> Bill can play the piano! That's a fun canon detail so. I had to use it somewhere. [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhuMLpdnOjY)


	4. Chapter 4

Ghosts. Real, living - wait, not living, they’re dead by default - ghosts.

Dipper listens, half-distracted, to the music as Bill continues to play. He’s still on the piano bench next to the guy, and thinking. His host alternates between humming along to his music, and singing random songs. He’s got some skill at it… but Dipper’s not watching.

The words on the wall in ‘blood’ ectoplasm, Dipper needs to get a sample, somehow - have fully evaporated into… whatever it does. Whispy and white, like steam. Good thing too, it makes Dipper feel a lot more centered. Seeing something like that…

He shudders, only a bit. He hears a bit of laughter in Bill’s voice as he sings the next line.

When the idea of breaking into the Cipher mansion had first popped into his head, Dipper had been calm about this investigation. Almost disinterested. He couldn’t find the last time someone died in this house. Heck, part of the reason he’d come here was to disprove some of the rumors about the Cipher mansion, and expose it for the paranoia it really was.

That? Is _definitely_ not the case.

There’s blood. There’s moving objects. There’s the man who owns the building. And…

Bill’s gotten bored with the piano. The notes trail off. He’s noticed Dipper’s not paying attention. Dipper looks around the room some more - maybe something else is going to move- Bill stands up, sudden. He tucks an arm around Dipper’s waist, and he’s pulled along for the ride.

“Wait, what-” says Dipper, but Bill just takes him by the hand, smiling brightly, and makes Dipper hold onto his arm.

“There’s more here still, kid,” Bill says, cheerful, pulling Dipper out the room. “Didn’t you wanna see some stuff? We gotta keep moving.”

And sure, Dipper did, but, “I don’t know if-”

He gets talked over. “So, I should really show you around the more basic parts of this place - kitchen, boiler room, yadda yadda, but I think for now, I’ll just bring you to the neater stuff.”

What? Why would Bill show that stuff off? Dipper frowns, he digs his heels into the carpet, briefly. “Hey-” But he gets pulled along, despite any protests. And swears, very quietly, but follows. Fine, might as well walk alongside his host.

Something’s really, _really_ bothering Dipper about this.

A ghost is definitely here, it’s… exciting, honestly! Unsettling, and dangerous, true. But it’s not the phenomena that Dipper’s seen that’s putting him on edge.

Something’s _wrong_ here. He feels it in his _bones_. It’s a deep, aimless suspicion. He keeps trying to pinpoint it, but whatever’s going on keeps slipping out of his grasp.

Maybe… the fear in this place is getting to him through paranoia.

The thought makes Dipper perk up a little. That would make sense, that it would manifest in different ways. But even though it might just be whatever psychic presence is here, something’s nagging at him.

Meanwhile, Bill’s grinning widely, chatting happily about everything else he owns. Yay, some kind of… fancy jewelry, somewhere. Paintings, everywhere, hanging off the walls, Dipper can see why he’d have those, and he doesn’t care about their history, but Bill…

He doesn’t seem to care if Dipper’s listening, he just likes to talk. He'll go on and on, without end, and he’s apparently got an immense ego, showing things off - not just his stuff, but how much he remembers about it. Dipper resists the urge to roll his eyes, because egotistic or not, Bill knows everything about this mansion’s history. He can go into detail about where almost every single piece of furniture came from, spin old stories about war, and hunting, and delicate political intrigue - he’s eloquent and extremely talkative, and apparently loves dumb puns-

“Look, I think we both know I’m really into-” says Dipper, though he keeps his tone measured, not wanting to offend -

Bill interrupts immediately. “Yeah, yeah, spirits, ghosts, the poltergeist,” He squeezes his arm around Dipper’s hand, where it rests just above his elbow. “You really wanna see him?” For a moment his smile grows wider - a little… Dipper’s not sure mouths are supposed to work that way-

Then Bill leans in, really, really close, his lips almost against Dipper’s ear. “Sure you haven’t caught a glimpse?”

Dipper shakes his head, staring down at the dumb black carpet under their feet. “Not a thing.” He mutters.

Honestly? It’s a disappointment.

Bill’s seen the spirit. But nobody else can. A few phenomena have gone on, but not a single glimpse of… Well, ghosts are supposed to be invisible, anyway. Definitely always intangible.

Why would Dipper be any different? He’s not a Cipher, he’s never seen one before, of _course_ he’d never have that ability. His face feels hot, he clenches his fists. He’s so stupid.

What’s the point of all of this, if he can’t get _proof_?

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Pines,” Bill backs away from Dipper’s cheek after a second, straightening up. “I _know_ you’ll catch him. The only question is _when_.”

It makes Dipper glance up at his host’s face. Bill’s still cheerful, and they’re walking down the hallway, towards whatever Bill wants to show off next.

“I’m not sure this is…” Dipper trails off, and now they’re reaching the end of the hall. The corridor goes on for a while, but now Dipper can see the double doors at the other end, finally. He lets his hand drop from Bill’s arm, and stops walking.

Bill turns towards him. Smile still on his face as he takes a couple steps backwards. Then he frowns, stopping, and his arms cross. Dipper’s not following, it bugs him. “Something off, kid?

“How will I know if I see him? I don’t-”

Immediately, Bill interrupts. “Come here,” He gestures towards himself, sharp and urgent. Dipper hesitates-

He feels lukewarm, liquid drops.

A slow tapping on the back of his neck, trickling down underneath the back of his shirt, slicking his hair down- warm, and sticky, and _coating_ him - Dipper runs forward, as the sudden shower of ectoplasmic blood comes down. He almost collides with Bill again - Lucky enough, Bill catches him, and as the blood rain falls in a slowly advancing trail down the hallway, Bill drags Dipper onwards, just ahead of the gore.

Dipper glances back and immediately stumbles to follow Bill, faster. That’s a _lot_ of blood.

“Maybe we should get you out of this,” says Bill, easily keeping up ahead of the freaking shower of blood raining behind them. He starts walking faster -

Dipper matches his pace, glancing backward, the carpet’s almost entirely soaked, and now Bill’s running, dragging him down the hallway. Heaving open the double doors at the end of the hallway - shoving Dipper through them - and slamming them back behind them.

“Whoo! That was something, wasn’t it?” Bill grins, leaning casually back against the shut doors. “Who could have expected that?”

Dipper kind of shrugs, still unnerved. It’s one thing to know ‘hey, a ghost’, and another to nearly be soaked in ectoplasmic gore, but this room isn’t - he looks around. The blood isn’t raining here, and it’s-

A bedroom?

The walls here are black, with some yellow embellishments. A freaking _huge_ wardrobe, made of some rich, dark wood. Cabinets, all elegantly carved, with.. Some weird triangle motif. Big, four-poster bed, with curtains drawn back. The blankets are dark, and messily arranged-

Wait, that’s clearly been slept in. It’s had someone in it, recently.

Bill said he didn’t live here, so…Maybe he was just staying overnight? It’s his place, he has the right if he wants to.

“Yeesh, look at you,” Bill’s looking him over, mouth twitching up at one corner. He steps closer. Frowning, just a little bit. “Might wanna do something about your clothing situation.”

Dipper glances over, then down at himself - and draws part of his shirt away, grimacing at the sticky-warm feeling as the cloth pulls away. He _is_ kinda soaked. He cringes. Even though this isn’t real blood, it feels remarkably like it _is_.

Across from him, Bill strides over to the wardrobe, smiling wide. “Take ‘em off, kid.” He opens up the thing, and… that’s a lot of clothes. Shirts, pants, a few suit jackets - “I can lend you something cleaner.”

Right. New shirt. Dipper feels his shoulders slump in relaxation.

Also… this is really warm, sticky, and gross. Thank hell it doesn’t smell like anything. Ectoplasm. _Real_ ectoplasm. Dipper’d want to keep it, for study later, but it’s going to evaporate eventually and this feels _disgusting_.

He glances over at Bill. The owner’s not looking at him, frowning at the choices in the wardrobe. Tapping a finger against his chin, looking like… Well, he’s dressed in a full formal suit, even when nobody was around to see him. He’s probably picky about fashion. He's finding something that’ll, no pun intended, _suit_ Dipper.

While Bill’s still contemplating his options, Dipper settles down to sit on the bed, and strips his shirt off.

He hesitates, holding the gross, red thing in one hand - then just lets it drop down onto the floor with a wet splat. Probably it won’t stain anything. The walls in the music room seemed fine, afterwards.

There’s a quiet hum from nearby, and Dipper looks up.

Bill’s standing there, holding a couple of shirts draped over one arm, and watching Dipper. Very. Very closely. His head is cocked to one side.

Dipper swallows dryly. That… he shifts under Bill’s gaze, it’s… really intense, and he’s starting to get a little uncomfortable. His hands clench on the rumpled bedsheets.

“Is, uh,” The shirts get tossed next to Dipper on the bed. He looks over at them, reaches out to touch - shit, no, he draws his hand back, it’s still red with the fake blood - “I was-”

In his moment of hesitation, Bill has suddenly moved in, really close. Dipper jerks back as he turns his head, the guy is right up in his face - But Bill is smiling. Sharp, and intimate. As Dipper leans back more, he follows. Dipper keeps retreating, he’s not sure what else to do, but all that does is leave him lying back on the absurdly soft mattress.

With a grinning, attractive man leaning over him, whose hands are already planted on either side of him, and at some point Dipper parted his legs, Bill's in between them. And really, Bill’s creepy, but he’s got one hell of a presence and. And.

He searches for something to say, looking up at Bill. They're so incredibly close now, almost touching, but not quite. His face is starting to heat up, because Bill’s. Bill’s _something_ , and he’s.

“Well,” says Bill, slowly, sounding pleased, and very obviously staring at  _everything_ he can stare at- “Got some stuff on your pants, there, too,” Dipper’s breath catches in his throat - Bill’s hands are resting, just gently, on his waistband, and the owner's voice is almost a purr as he continues. “Maybe you should slip outta _those_ , too.”

Dipper realizes, with no small regret, that he’s a complete idiot.

Bill’s been hitting on him.

Bill has been hitting on him _hard_.

How in the hell didn’t he see it earlier?

There’s this guy. Touching him everywhere he can. Bragging, showing off everything he owns, how rich he is, how smart he is. Giving Dipper a drink, and trying to entertain him, and get all of his attention. Then once he got Dipper in his bedroom, shirtless, sitting right in place for things to-  he’s….

He’s sinking to his knees, smirking, fingers tracing over Dipper's belt.

 _Holy shit_.

He could stop this. He isn’t going to, but he could, but... Bill’s really attractive and he likes Dipper, and anyway, it’s not like Dipper  _asked_ for this. Bill just _wants_ to-

It’s difficult not to breathe too hard, and his face is about as hot as it’s ever been.

If someone had told Dipper that he’d end up with an obscenely rich, attractive guy aiming to go down on him, he would’ve said that was even _more_ impossible than finding an actual ghost. Bill mouths, very carefully, against Dipper’s hip, and he’s really not proud of the strangled noise he makes.

Completely unbelievable things seem to be common in the Cipher mansion. Dipper’s already seen a few of them.

This brings the total count up to five.

“Looks like someone’s a little lively,” Bill mutters, looking down at- “How ‘bout I take care of that for you?” And his teeth scrape against Dipper’s hip, he’s still fully dressed, but he's obviously more than a little eager, his tongue leaves a slick trail-

Dipper had not, under any circumstances, even in his wildest dreams, imagined _this_ would happen. This is straight out of a fantasy. Being here. Lying back on this obscenely comfortable bed, with a handsome, rich stranger crouching in front of him - Bill is pressing kisses, just lightly, on his side, down to his hip, and Dipper’s pants are already down around his knees.

He’s not sure when the last person died in this house -

But by the way his heart is pounding, and how Bill’s hands run up his legs, cupping his hips, and the way Bill licks at his navel teasingly, casting a glance back up at him-

He’s feeling vaguely like it might be _him_ in a few seconds.

Dipper nods, dumbly. He feels like his brain has dropped out of his head.

“Good,” Bill’s tone is full of deep satisfaction. He licks his lips. Dipper’s pants get ripped off, his shoes are undone, they’re pulled away. “‘Cause I can _taste_ you, too.”

Dipper moves to cover his face, and he shifts around. God, that’s... really embarrassing, but also really hot -

“I bet,” Bill says, sounding pleased, “You’re _delicious_.”

Really, really _embarrassing_ , and though his face feels hot he’s got to do something. Bill’s fingers slip under the waist of Dipper’s boxers, it’s sending a thrill through him, and Dipper just... grabs one of the pillows with one outstretched arm, and swings it over to hit Bill with it, for being such a-

Dipper ends up hitting himself.

He straightens up with a jolt.

That didn’t hurt, but- He stares down at his lap.

Bill’s still there. Blinking, slowly, and where before he was being lascivious... now he’s looking surprised, sitting more upright. His hands are still under the waistband of Dipper’s underwear. And the pillow Dipper tried to hit him with...

Has phased right through him.

That pillow is in Dipper’s lap, now, he felt that impact, hard. There was never even any _resistance_ , he just smacked himself straight in the crotch - and where that pillow rests...

Bill’s arms are through it as completely as if they were cut off, disappearing into the fabric. They go right through the cloth. Dipper can still feel his touch, but this guy’s just… passing through that piece of bedding, like it’s not there, and he looks a little surprised.

Bill can touch things. Bill can move things. Bill can touch, and _be_ touched by Dipper, but he’s apparently not touched by some things. Not if he wasn’t expecting them.

Dipper stays propped up on his elbows, and stares.

Bill stares back.

There’s a few, awkward seconds, where all Dipper can do is watch, as Bill starts to stand, looking slightly annoyed. Bill draws his hands away - _through_ the freaking pillow, again, without even a ripple or any resistance - putting on an innocent look. Like he’s completely not at any fault. For anything that’s happened since Dipper met him, like the moving objects, or like the blood, or - like… all the things he’s said.

Like he’s not _selectively intangible_.

Dipper scrambles backwards across the blankets, as fast as he can.

He does it _too_ fast, and falls off the other side of the bed, his back hitting the plushly carpeted floor - he curses, rolling over and stumbling to find his feet. And as Dipper stands, he sees his host, this guy, this-

Bill’s standing, arms crossed, glaring. He sighs, heavily, looking irritated. “Y’know, I was expecting _something_ to get through, at some point. But just now? Really?” he says, slowly, sounding annoyed, giving Dipper a wry look as he shakes his head. “Man, you got _terrible_ timing, kid.”

 _Bill_ is…

“ _You_.” Dipper says, simply, because he can’t think of what else to say. His arms are loose against his sides. He doesn’t know what to do.

Bill snorts. He starts grinning, wide and amused, and yanks one of the sheets off of the plush bed, pulling it away. “Yeah. _Me_.” He gives Dipper a wink - and drapes the sheet over his head, clasping it around himself.

Dipper watches, feeling kind of… blank, as Bill strides forward, through the bed, the sheet over his head covering most of him and trailing over the mattress -

Bill leans in close, they’re almost face to face, and Dipper’s frozen in place, his heart is pounding, he feels like it might stop at any moment.

“Boo.” Bill says, with a grin.

And he starts laughing, hard.


	5. Chapter 5

Dipper slams the door to the master bedroom behind himself with more force than he should, and leans back against it. He’s breathing hard.

Okay. That just happened.

The last thing he remembers is blinking at Bill for a few, blank seconds. Then he _darted_ for the doorway. Not sure how he got out here this fast.

He had thought this house was weird. Everyone said it was a ghost, or… a spirit. All of those were unlikely, maybe impossible, so he’d thought. But there was _something_ weird about this mansion. And he was _right._

There _is_ something _._ It passes through things like they aren’t there. It moves objects, it makes ectoplasmic blood, it can walk and talk and be charming, and that something _isn’t alive_.

 _Bill_ is something.

Dipper lets out a shaky breath, steadying himself. Time to process for a second. He’s breathing a little rapidly -  he swallows, dryly, throat feeling tight - and braces his feet against the carpet, pressing his back against the door. It’s cool against his skin, the detail fine enough that he can feel it on his back-

Oh, _crap_. He left his clothes in there.

There was a handsome stranger trying to pull him into bed, so he kind of - but he’s not a romantic, like Mabel, he should’ve _known_ it was impossibly weird. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen, not to people like _him_. But he let Bill strip him nearly naked, because he’s a _complete idiot,_ who wasn’t thinking straight.

Why’d he let things go so far? Dipper had _just_ met that guy- No. Not guy. That... _something_.

He heaves out an unsteady breath, his fingers curl up against rich wood. He feels a soft, lukewarm touch, pressing between his shoulderblades. A palm, fingers stroking- 

Dipper gets the _hell_ away from the door, eyes wide.

He stumbles a few paces away as he tries to both flee, and turn around to watch, trying to clap a hand over the spot where- Bill’s hand touched him.

It’s right there, visible, at shoulder height and passing seamlessly through the dark wood. It waggles its fingers, almost playfully. And as Dipper watches, Bill steps smoothly, grinning, into the hallway. He slides through, in pieces, a leg, his head, his chest -  like the door was never even there.

Bill stretches, and stalks closer. He gives Dipper a smile.“Now there’s a reaction I’ve never gotten from _that_ particular offer,” He crosses his arms, and his smile drops. “Honestly? I’m kinda insulted.”

“You’re dead.” Dipper says. It comes out kind of flatly. “You’re a ghost.” Something Dipper’s always been looking for. But not like _this_ , and it wasn’t supposed to be _real._

Bill snorts out a derisive breath, smiling again. “Sure I am! What’s your point?” He waves off the idea. Like being _dead_ is a _minor detail_.

Dipper’s feet squish on the ectoplasm-soaked carpet, making wet sounds with each retreating step. Thick white mist is starting to rise around him, curling up his sides. Bill must be getting tired of keeping up the ectoplasm - with his _ghost powers_ , because he’s a _ghost_.

Every step Dipper takes back, Bill follows with another. And he’s grinning.

“You’re _dead_ ,” repeats Dipper, as the wet carpet squishes between his toes and the mist starts blocking everything out but Bill in his vision.

“You said you always wanted to see a ghost, kid. And I,” He places a hand on his chest, looking dignified. “Have been an excellent host,” He snorts, jabbing a thumb back at the bedroom. “Let’s pick things back up. You were more than a little into it, am I right?”

“I don’t…” Dipper’s at a loss. What can he even say to that? He looks around. By now he can’t even see the _walls_ , the mist is so thick. He stops in his tracks, watching Bill approach. This… something stops right in front of Dipper, leaning in. Their faces are close. A chill runs up his spine. This can’t be right. Bill can’t _really_ be what he says he is because -

\- Because when Dipper reaches out to touch the front of Bill’s suit, he’s _there._ He feels solid, and present. Bill even leans into it a bit, and it pushes Dipper’s arm back with very real pressure 

“Or maybe... you’re just getting cold feet.” Bill says. His grin is far too smug, and predatory. He reaches up a hand to cup Dipper’s where it rests against his chest. Dipper looks at Bill’s face, so close to his own, like he’s going to -

This has to be some kind of trick. Bill seems like he loves tricks. A ghost wouldn’t want any of the stuff Bill’s been trying for. Maybe there was a smoke bomb in the hall, maybe that door’s just… another trick, he can’t come up with an explanation for that, but he sighs, shakily. 

His breath comes out in a visible cloud, and Dipper realizes that he’s actually, genuinely _cold_.  He puffs out a little more to confirm, it’s like he’s standing winter air - and wow, being this undressed in it is really uncomfortable. 

No, he was right the first time.

Definitely a ghost. 

“Well, I, uh,” Dipper manages to wriggle his hand out from under Bill’s, though the ghost gives him an annoyed look. Looking him over, Dipper gives possibly the most strained smile he can, searching for words. “I’m-”

Maybe shaking a little. And… _Fascinated_.

He’s not sure whether he wants to run for the hills from this creepy, semi-violent spirit. - or start grabbing at Bill, asking him _every_ question, find out _everything_ about him.

“I’m flattered. Really. But I’m not interested,” Dipper says finally, and the flat look Bill gives him tells him his partial lie has been seen through completely. “You’re _dead.”_ Dipper says, again, shrugging incredulously. Words are failing him.

“Yeesh, you’re really focused on that.” Bill raises an eyebrow. “So what?”

“It’s kind of important,” Dipper insists. Not being alive is probably one of the first things you should ever tell a partner. Not that it comes up often, generally the dead aren’t the ones pushing the issue. “I mean, look, I-”

Bill rolls his eyes. “Death isn’t an either-or thing, kid! It’s more of,” He frowns, and tilts a hand back and forth. “A spectrum, you know? You can see me, hear me, touch me, even!” Bill’s getting closer, now, Dipper bumps against a wall as he retreats - “As far as you’re concerned, I might as well be alive!”

He did always want to see a ghost. He didn’t expect to see one like _this_. Asking for. Things.

Bill watches him for a few seconds. Whatever he sees in Dipper’s expression makes his grin drain off his face. “But, if you’re not into it, whatever. It’s your loss, kid.” Bill says, sounding a little disappointed. Almost pouty.  “You got no idea what you’re missing out on.”

Honestly, Dipper doesn’t know what to say. He sort of shrugs helplessly, at a loss. 

So far, Bill hasn’t done anything to him. It’s unlikely it’ll stay that way.

There’ve been _accidents_ in this house. Or rather, things that _looked_ like accidents, if you thought the house wasn’t haunted. And while the worst of those were broken bones… Bill is _something_ , and he and his house has driven _multiple_ people to near, if not complete, insanity.

Studying the spiritual, even if he’s not an expert, means he knows the terminology. This is a _poltergeist_ , Bill even _called_ himself one. Universally tricky, mischievous, really powerful - and it’s not a question if they’re bad or good. They’re _all_ bastards, just to different degrees. 

Discretion being the better part of valor and all - yeah, time to get out while the getting’s good.

Dipper clears his throat. “Look, the tour was great. You’ve got a beautiful-” _Grave_ \- “Place here. But I should, uh,” Dipper can only manage half a smile. “Really get going. It’s… late out.”

Bill sighs, shutting his eyes. “Going?” He shakes his head, slow, before meeting Dipper’s gaze again. Around them, there’s nothing but white mist. Bill touches Dipper’s arm gently, and slides his fingers down only to grip the wrist. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“Home?” His voice sounds weak in his own ears. More like a request than a question. Despite the cold, he’s starting to sweat. “I...  I think I want to go home now.”

Bill’s still smiling. Looking way too pleased. Smug, and so close Dipper wants to curl into himself.

“You’re in luck, then.” His hands squeezes on Dipper’s wrist harder. “You’re already here!”

This place? _Home_?

Oh. _Oh_ , no. Coming to the Cipher mansion was _such a bad idea_.

Dipper tries to yank his hand back, fast - 

It doesn’t matter. Bill’s usually intangible… but he’s very, _very_ tangible to Dipper, he has a hold on him, and he’s not letting go.

“You can’t _keep_ me here.” Dipper fumbles to pry away his arm, claws at Bill’s fingers. “Let go!”

“Nah! Forget it.” Bill’s amused, though he wrinkles his nose a bit as Dipper’s nails scratch at his hand. “I said you could stay! I never said when you could _leave.”_

What the _hell_ is Bill thinking, this is crazy. Even if Dipper _wanted_ to stay, he’s a trespasser. One of the caretakers could run into him, that’d be trouble. Besides, this place is too barren, and empty for a living person, he can’t stay here like this. What does Bill _want_ from him?

The ghost tightens his grip every time Dipper tries to reclaim his arm. After six or so jerks, trying to pull away, it starts to _hurt_. Dipper shuts his eyes, letting out a small grunt. Bill’s keeping him close, still  smiling, squeezing his grip tighter - and he shows absolutely no sign of letting up. He gives a sharp tug, and pulls Dipper by the arm into what’s likely the middle of the hallway.

Dipper makes another attempt to escape, leaning back with his full weight - all this is doing is entertaining Bill, he’s smiling and completely unmoved.

Also, Dipper’s feeling kind of sick. “I’m not going to…”

“Listen, kid, it’s not about that. Though it was worth a shot!” Bill slides his free hand over Dipper's captured one, just idly petting. Right, he can _feel_ Dipper, that’s probably why he wanted to - “The second you started talking to me? You weren’t _ever_ gonna take another step outta this place. I figured I’d take a chance at some fun before things got serious.

A brief pause. Bill perks up a bit, winking at him. “Lemme know if you change your mind, though. We got _plenty_ of time.”

Dipper stares. If it’s not for that, then - why _can’t_ he leave? “You’re insane.”

There’s a sharp laugh, and Bill’s sudden grin is bright and wide. “I could use some decent company! You fit the bill,” With another wink, and a spring in his step, he starts walking, pulling Dipper along in some unknown direction. “Let’s get you settled in.”

His arm’s starting to ache with all the pulling, which wasn’t doing much anyway. Digging in his heels doesn’t work, either. Dipper’s hauled along and only loses his balance. A stumble or six later, he swears, and stops resisting.

It’s either follow the ghost or be _dragged_. 

Where’s he being taken? He can’t see anything… and this mansion’s _huge_. Bill’s shown off a bunch, and he’s said a lot of weird, cryptic things. They could be going anywhere from a ballroom, to a dungeon, or something worse-

The sudden cold Dipper feels has nothing to do with the air around him. 

Nobody _lives_ in a place with a spirit like this. 

“Hey, Bill?” Dipper’s shivering outright now, even though this part of the hallway is warm. The ectoplasmic mist is mostly faded, the carpet merely damp instead of soaked. 

The question makes Bill slow, and turn to look at him curiously. “Yeah?” 

Dipper can touch Bill. He’s not sure why, or how. It’s a mystery he’s never going to get to the bottom of, maybe, but... He’s not sure Bill can _stop_ him from doing it.

So when his punch lands soundly on Bill’s jaw, the a sharp crack of the impact is _immensely_ satisfying, even though it hurts his hand.

He gets his wrist back as Bill clutches at his face. With him turned away, slightly leaning over - Dipper slams a kick into Bill’s leg for good measure. He watches Bill lose his balance, falling and… sort of half-phasing through part of the wall and floor, on hands and knees. He’s shaking himself, cursing softly. There’s surprise in his expression, just peeking out past pain. 

Fine, he wants to feel something? Dipper hopes he felt _that_ pretty hard. 

Dipper’s not affected whatever spiritual fear aura Bill gives off. And he’s never been much of an athlete, much less a sprinter. 

It’s amazing, though, how quickly _sheer terror_ can get a person moving. 

He hears Bill starting to swear loudly behind him as he races down the hallway. The mist is thinning out,  he can sort  of see - in their graceful settings, all the lightbulbs start flickering, one of them explodes - Dipper flinches, but it should be a pretty straight shot to the stairway and he’s going to get the hell out, before Bill fully recovers. 

Bill wants _company_.

Dipper’s always wanted to _see_ a ghost, not _become_ one.

The staircase, at least, is right where Dipper left it. Skidding to a stop at the top of it, he starts thundering heedlessly down the stairs, almost falling…And stops at the bottom, panting hard.

The double doors of the entrance are closed.

If Dipper had to guess, this isn’t going to do any good - but he sprints for them anyway, trying the handles. Locked. He pushes at them - he’s not going to be able to force these open, and his lockpicks are still upstairs in his pants pocket.

Not that they’d do much good. It’s probably _ghost_ locked, with some… weird spirit stuff.

Windows. Right, he turns his head around, looking - He could break one, maybe. But those are set up too high for him to reach, and even if he did he’d get shredded by broken glass. There has got to be a way out of here, or both he and - _Crap_.

“Wendy?” shouts Dipper, turning from the door to look around.

He’s trying to remember which hallway she went down, it’s not coming to mind or he’d take down off it. He shouts louder. “Hey! Wendy! You there?”

Nothing. Shit.

Bill said she’d taken off. But- She’s one of the best friends Dipper has, they’ve been through enough trouble together. She wouldn’t do that to him, would she? Abandon him like this?

Unless, say. Some old, super-strong ghost put the fear of… himself into her, the kind that breaks people’s minds. Leaves them wrecked in the head. Not that bad, Dipper hopes, she’s tough - Or there’d be enough of it to get her outside, for a moment, then Bill could slam the doors....

Trying the door again doesn’t help. He grips the doorknobs tightly, but his hands slip on the cool metal as he tries to turn them. He wipes his sweating palms on his boxers.

“Y’know,” Bill’s voice is deceptively calm. “I thought I was insulted _before…”_

Dipper straightens up slowly, back tense, hands dropping to his sides.

Bill continues, and by the sound of it he’s getting closer. _“_ But that little stunt of yours _really_ takes the cake.”

While it’s not going to prevent anything from happening to him, Dipper’s still slow to turn around. He’s never considered himself a coward, but every second he doesn’t see Bill, he doesn’t have to face his own inevitable death.

He doesn’t have to look. He can accept this. Don’t look, just let it come, and he won’t have to _see_ it coming...

He looks behind himself anyway.

Bill is stepping down from the last stair. A wide, rectangular, deep-red velvety looking box is held in one of his hands, and being tapped idly against the palm of the other. He is calmly, quietly furious.

If he hadn’t _already_ had a plan to murder Dipper, he’s definitely coming up with one _now._

This is it. Bill’s right there. He’s pissed. There’s no escape. Dipper shuts his eyes and breathes in slow, lets it out.

Might as well face it head-on. He walks like a man heading towards the gallows, but at least he walks.

He stops a bit away from Bill, who’s stopped himself. They’re on the middle of that great black carpet, stretching upstairs, a few meters away from each other.

“Wanna tell me what you thought _that’d_ do? I’m already dead, this is my place, and now?” Bill’s still playing with that weird red box. His smile has no humor in it whatsoever. “I’m not feeling like so gracious a host.” 

Though Dipper grits his teeth, and he’s having to really concentrate, not to run, again, to panic… It’s easy enough to speak.

“I don’t want to die.” HIs hands clench and his eyes feel hot. Breathing in shakily, Dipper tries to look like he’s not about to break into pieces. “So. It was… Worth a shot?” 

He tried to get out. He failed. But at least he _tried_. That’s worth something, right?

Bill makes a ‘pfft’ sound, rolling his eyes. “Well, yeah, death’s awful. Trust me, I-" The ghost suddenly straightens up with realization, eyes wide. His hands go to his hips, that box taps against his thigh - Dipper glances at it again. 

“Aw, is _that_ what you thought?” For some reason, now Bill’s smiling again. It’s almost… fond? Or pitying? Much more relaxed than moments ago, he’s almost chuckling. “That I was gonna hurt ya?”

What, he’s not - Dipper nearly chokes on air, confused. “You said you wanted-”

“Company, sure!” And now Bill casts his hands up, looking incredulous. That box of his sails off and settles with a soft thud on one of the many tables around the edges of the foyer. Convenient landing - no. Poltergeist, he moved that - Dipper has to turn to look at this poltergeist again as he stalks in closer. “How would offing you get me _that_?” 

“I…” Dipper doesn’t move, he’s trying hard to think. This is a sudden turn of events. “So. You’re _not_ going to kill me?”

Bill laughs softly, and touches Dipper’s arm again, smirking. “Wasn’t ever in the cards. I thought you studied this stuff!”

And after a second of thought - shit, if he _does_ know stuff about this, Bill’s right. “Oh. Because-” Dipper blinks a few times, rapidly, clearing his throat. “I wouldn’t… stay. Would I.”

Bill starts looking rather pleased. “Got it, kid. Not part of the family, not been here long,” He starts counting off the reasons on his fingers. “No real _reason_ to stay. Even if you _had_ one of those, it’s unlikely you’d linger. Just-” Bill waves his hands- “Poof, gone. Pretty dumb move to try for it.”

Dipper almost wants to laugh, he just sort of heaves out a quick breath instead. Tension slowly sinks out of him. 

Bill continues, though he's smiling a little more now.  “I’m not stupid kid. Even if the odds _were_ good, you’d be _shitty_ company.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want some brainless whisp of spirit drifting around, going ‘Ooooh, Bill,” The ghost wiggles his fingers, and draws out the words, putting a wavering, ‘spooky’ tone to his voice. “‘You killed me.’” He waves that idea off abruptly, and the smirk comes back. “Not exactly what I wanna hear you moaning about.” 

Though he’s saying it in a way that makes Dipper think about that.. whatever that was in the bedroom, and simultaneously want to punch him again, what Bill says _makes sense_. Dipper squirms in place. Everything this spirit does has Dipper feeling different. Hot, then cold, then hot again. He’s like the world’s worst thermostat. 

Most importantly, Dipper’s not going to die. Not right now.

Bill’s creepy, and touchy, and he still wants to kidnap Dipper, for some unknown reason, and… Dipper is... scared, fine. But as bad as this is, it’s difficult to _keep_ being scared, because fuck, this is _interesting_.

Bill’s mood has vastly improved. He takes a moment or two, as he weighs his options, running a couple fingers down one of Dipper’s biceps... Then he shrugs. 

“Alright. Tell ya what. I’ll forgive you. _This_ time.” He glares a little, but the smirk returns in short order. He pokes Dipper on the chest. “I can respect that kinda pep. _I’d_ punch death in the face if I had the chance. Pretty cute of you,” He snorts, then rolls his eyes again. “You’re kinda dense, though.”

Dipper _should_ have known better, or realized. He sort of knew a bit, but - what with the blood and the cold and the phenomena he didn’t work it through all the way, who would? - he blames himself anyway, for not thinking. 

Face feeling hot, he snaps out some words. “You threw me off, okay, asshole? Shut up.”

Dumb thing to say, Bill’s got a temper- he regrets saying anything, teeth clicking together as he shuts his mouth, fast.

Luckily, Bill only laughs, slapping one of his thighs. “I _am_ good at getting a rise outta people! Thanks for noticing.” He gives Dipper another wink. Back to amused it is, then. The atmosphere is more relaxed - as far as it _can_ be - and Bill’s… calmish.

Dead, alive. Which one Bill is might not matter as much as Dipper had thought. Overall he’s just _weird_. Dipper’s gotta get out of here. Dead or not dead, this is still bad. Staying in this house can only lead to some kind of disaster.

No holy water, no silver mirror, or all the other ghost-prevention stuff. He’s not sure any of those would even _work_. 

Bill may or not be vulnerable to them - but this is a ghost who’s studied this stuff. He has tomes of old knowledge on the subject, he’s likely had more than enough time to read every single one cover to cover, and he’s clever enough to avoid anything that might work on him. Dipper has _nothing_ over this spirit, and Bill has has two fingers stroking Dipper’s upper arm.

He glances at that box Bill was carrying again.

It’s resting on an oaken side table next to the couches, looking plain and rich and innocent. Bill’s between it and Dipper, it’s closer to the stairs than the door.

If this spirit wasn’t hauling him off to a more convenient murder-place, where Dipper’s body would go unnoticed, after he’d finished with it... Then he was after something else.

An _important_ something else.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Bill says smugly. Dipper’s still being - only slightly - fondled, but it bothers him, he takes a step back. “Let’s get back to-”

One of the hallway doors slams open. Both Bill and Dipper turn to stare at the sound -And at the beautiful, gorgeous, entirely relieving presence of the person who storms through the doorway. She must have heard Dipper shouting, and she came running, from wherever she was down that hall.

“Dipper?” Wendy shouts, agitated, even breathing a little heavy - she leans over to catch it. She’s been running fast. 

“Wendy!” Dipper almost laughs as he calls back, watching as she straightens up, a relieved look on her face.

Even after Bill tried to drive her away with fear, and it must have been a bunch - she didn’t abandon him. She’s _still here._ And joy of joys, somewhere, in this huge place, this mansion that’s practically a museum - she’s managed to arm herself. A battleaxe, sharp and silver, is clapped in one hand, the haft leaning over her shoulder.

Dipper’s been over his old crush for years, but right now he could absolutely _kiss_ her, he’s so grateful. 

“There you are,” Wendy smiles, bouncing the haft of her new weapon on her shoulder. “You sounded like. Uh…” She trails off, looking Dipper over. One eyebrow goes up. “Dude. Clothes?”

He realizes -  _again -_  that he’s only in his underwear. Bill didn't mind, but this is yet another dollop of weird on top of everything else - he awkwardly tries to figure out where he should put his hands to cover himself. All the important bits are- but- He fumbles, searching for words. “Uh. I.”

Bill had been staring... but now he’s laughing again. Shaking his head disbelievingly, but absolutely pleased. 

“Well now!” He says brightly, and - Dipper jumps a little as he gets smacked on the butt. He immediately wheels around to glare at this spirit. Bill’s beaming at him. “This your friend?”

“Shut up.” Dipper backs away again, hunching into himself. Ghosts should _not_ hit on people, it’s _weird._  

“Hey, I was worried!” Wendy sounds a little annoyed. “You sounded like someone was going to _murder_ you.” She starts walking closer. Dipper turns back towards her - and dodges another swipe from Bill, who’s still. Freaking. Laughing. “What’s going on?”

Wait, that’s not- “What? Sorry. No, I wasn’t talking to you,” Dipper points towards Bill, backing up further. Wendy gives him a strange look. “I was talking to _him._ ”

Wendy blinks for a second. She looks around. Then all around, turning to examine the foyer. When she looks back at Dipper it’s with a still-raised eyebrow, and a little concern. 

“Him... who?” She walks closer, somewhat more cautiously. Like Dipper’s something that’ll startle if she moves too fast. “Dude. You feeling okay?”

Dipper feels his stomach plummet. 

She can’t- oh hell, this is still bad.

Dipper looks inbetween his friend and erstwhile captor, but while _Bill’s_ able to see _Wendy_...

“You’re pretty fun, Dipper Pines. Got one heckova tough friend there, too!” Bill says. He crosses his arms, leaning back - then more back - he actually _floats_ , legs crossing and arms tucking behind his head, as if sitting in some invisible seat.

Bill chuckles some more, watching Wendy, nodding slightly. He’s thought of something, and it makes him grin. “ _This_ is gonna get interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't hit the meat of the plot.
> 
> This does not bode well for my typing fingers.


	6. Chapter 6

Dipper’s in trouble. The kind of trouble he never expected, never _could_ have expected, because who could have thought ghosts were real, and have… interests in stuff.

He glances around himself, and takes a second to evaluate things.

There’s Bill. Sitting on absolutely nothing, looking supremely pleased with himself. And his friend Wendy, still glancing around in confusion, because either Bill _is_ invisible, or - something about this house bothers people, messes with their heads - Dipper’s been violently hallucinating for the last hour or so.

Dipper runs a hand through his hair, and hopes he hasn’t lost his mind.

Wendy walks up to him, smiling a little awkwardly. “You hanging in there okay?” She lowers the battleaxe she’d found, letting it rest blade-down on the ground, hand on top of its handle. “You really had me worried, man.”

“Where’d you get an axe?” It’s strange that she found one, much less that she’s hauling it around.

“Where’d _you_ lose your pants?” Wendy asks, looking kind of… weirded out, she turns her head away slightly.

Crap, this is _embarrassing_.  “That’s not important,” Dipper rubs his eyes. Anything but _that_ topic, he has no idea how to handle it - “You first.”

Wendy raises an eyebrow. Takes a moment, too, but. She shrugs.

“I was checking things out. Y’know, like you asked. There’s like, a whole armory here,” She's starting to smile. “So…when you started shouting like someone was _after_ you-” Hefting the axe again, she shrugs- “I grabbed the nearest thing to come help out, _and_ it’s wicked cool.”

“It is!” Bill agrees. Dipper turns to stare back at the ghost. “I _think_ ,” Bill continues, frowning in concentration, tapping his chin. “That’s great-great grandpa Cipher’s. Beheaded…” He hums for a second, thinking. “At _least_ twenty people with it.”

“That’s disturbing.” Dipper didn’t need to know _that_ bit of Cipher history -

“Hey, I like axes!” Wendy frowns slightly. She braces a fist on her hip. “Take it easy, I wanted to _help_.”

Dipper flails a little. That’s not what - This is starting to get awkward. “No, no! You’re fine. You’re great! But _Bill-_ ” He’s subjected to that weirdly concerned stare again from his friend. “I mean, what he just said...”

Wendy looks around the foyer again. When she meets Dipper’s eyes, she’s… slightly unsettled. She speaks a bit quieter, almost cautiously. “Dipper?” She tries to smile, and rubs at the back of her neck, shoulders shifting. “So...Who’s Bill?”

“Hey there, Red.” adds Bill, unhelpfully, with a grin and a wave. “You don’t scare easy, do ya?”

“ _This_ is Bill,” Dipper holds out his arms, gesturing at this pinstripe-suited, floating, _perfectly visible_ jackass. Wendy looks over where he motions - then back at Dipper. “Didn’t you hear that? Twenty people, decapitated?” He insists.

He gets stared at.

Bill is starting to chuckle as he lounges in midair, eyes shutting. “Oh, _this_ is rich.”  
  
“You seriously can’t see him?” Dipper hates how he’s starting to sound a little desperate, but Wendy just shakes her head. The look she’s giving him is… not a confident one.

Bill straightens up, standing again instead of sitting and floating, “She doesn’t understand, kid!” He saunters over, and leans in close. Dipper cringes away, not wanting another touch. “Who does she think you’re talking to? Oh yeah. _Nobody_.”

Son of a -  Dipper knows what he’s seen, and felt and… He’s not crazy. He _isn’t_.

He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have hallucinated being led around blindly for so long, or the other thing, and. Nobody else can do what Dipper’s been doing, that was part of that stupid teasing. Bill was surprised. Hell, almost shocked. Dipper remembers _that_. Weird things are going on, he just doesn’t know _how_.

Bill’s _right freaking there_! He exists!

Wendy just.. hasn’t seen any of supernatural things that Bill can pull. For the moment. But he is supernatural, and strong, he’s got a bag of weird spirit tricks on hand, and Dipper’s pretty certain he hasn’t seen them all yet. Only the ones Bill used to drive him towards- that room.

All _Wendy_ sees is her friend flinching and flailing at thin air. He’s going to _stop_ doing that. There’s something more important, and he can’t do it alone.

“I want to get the hell out of here.” Dipper says flatly.

Bill interrupts. “You won’t, just so ya know.”

Wendy’s frowning, confused. Not like she has reason to be otherwise, _Dipper’s_ the one who’d insisted on staying to investigate. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, we gotta go. We never should have even come here, I-” He grimaces. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

There’s a ghost that wants Dipper to stay with him, here, in this dusty, unlivable mansion. Maybe for a short time. Maybe for _forever_. Either option would be completely insane, and horrible.

He’s got to get himself out of this place, and _Wendy_ too, and somehow do it with Bill, the guy that controls everything in the house, right there in the foyer with them. No secrets here. He’ll hear anything they talk about, and Wendy - is  _here_ , and that’s _great_. That’s amazing. Dipper couldn’t be happier to see her. Problem being...

Bill is happy _too_ , despite her interruption, or the fact that she’s armed. The way Bill’s looking so smug, and certain, she’s no threat to him.

And even if she _was_ , Wendy _can’t see him_. There’s no way she could hit him with that thing.

“Okay.” Wendy scrunches up her face, still confused. “Yeah, it’s freaky here. But... I dunno,” She tilts her head to one side. “This place was just starting to seem kinda okay, once I got used to it. What changed _your_ mind?

Bill’s eyes widen. He slaps himself on the forehead, swearing softly, like a man who’s just realized he left his front door open.

After a beat of silence - Dipper doesn’t know what to say - Wendy continues. “You’re mega twitchy, you’re zoning out, and this is way more of you than I needed to see. No offense? But you’re starting to freak me out again.” She starts shifting in place, hands tightening on the axe handle. “Did something happen?”

Yeah, something happened - or, rather, didn’t happen, Bill wasn’t happy about that.

“The house is haunted.” Dipper says, finally. Fine, he looks crazy. He’ll have to live with that. “Bill’s in the room with us, he’s standing-” Way too close - “Right next to me, he’s a _ghost_ , and an asshole, and we need to find a way out _right now_.”

Wendy blinks, surprised, which... again, isn’t unexpected. Dipper had told her this _wasn’t_ haunted a couple hours ago. _That_ got proven wrong, rapidly.

“I still prefer poltergeist over ghost, y’know,” Bill’s keeping up his unhelpful running commentary. “Sounds more sophisticated. Plus, more accurate!”

“Shut _up_.” Dipper clenches his hands into fists, leaning away. He doesn’t need this _babbling_ , on top of Bill’s already absurd demand. He never needed any of this. “Stop talking.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Wendy’s backed away a step, looking unsettled.

“What’s that? _Keep_ talking?” says Bill, amused. Dipper claps his hands over his ears, but it doesn’t block out Bill’s voice in the slightest. “Sure, I can do that for you!” Bill might need another left hook to the jaw. Maybe that would shut him up.

This situation’s looking fucked, Dipper’s looking for a way out - he lowers his hands, giving his friend a hopeful grin, maybe she can think of _something_ -

“Go grab your clothes, man.” Wendy says, awkwardly smiling. “Why’d you take them off, anyway?”

...And she’s thinking of the most obvious problem in front of her, since she knows nothing about the important, _dead_ one.

“I can’t.” Dipper says flatly, glaring at Bill. The spirit waves at him cheerfully. Asshole. Dipper’s not going anywhere near that bedroom ever again, not even for his clothes. Bill can keep them. “They were-” How does he explain - “Stolen.”

“Yeah.” Bill says, low and sarcastic. “‘Cause you wouldn’t have ripped ‘em off by _yourself_ given the chance. _”_ He snorts. “You’re the one who left ‘em _behind_ , moron.”

Dipper twitches.

He’s _going_ to punch Bill again. Once he’s in a situation where he’s not going to look any weirder for it than he already does.

“Stolen,” Wendy repeats. She doesn’t seem at all reassured, she shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable- then smirks slightly. She relaxes, just a bit, raising a hand. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. The ghost stole them?”

“...yes.” Dipper mutters, lowering his head. Next to him, his erstwhile captor starts cackling, Bill thinks this is _funny._

Missing clothing or not, impulsive or not - running away from that was the best call Dipper’s made this whole stupid night. Even if Bill _weren’t_ dead, going through with that bedroom stuff would’ve been a mistake. Because he’s a _jackass_.

Wendy pats the battleaxe’s haft. “Don’t worry man, we can go grab your stuff, then get out together.” Offering a hand, Wendy smiles. This time it’s a little more sincere. “I’ll come with you, okay?”

Dipper doesn’t take her hand. He’s feeling hot again, but for a different reason. He clenches his fists.

Damn it, she’s _humoring_ him.

Being cautious, and gentle. Protective. Offering to hold his hand like he’s a _kid_ again. Because she doesn’t want to scare her friend. When Wendy’s doing this, he feels... young, and _patronized_ , and... damn it, this is humiliating on a whole different level than everything else, and he can’t even blame her.

What else would she think? Dipper’s - apparently - stripped himself nearly naked, and started babbling on about real ghosts, and flinching and basically looking  _completely unhinged_.

If Dipper was - and he _isn’t -_ that might be the right thing to do, but not _right now!_ This is _real._  He _knows_ it’s real. Dipper groans quietly, jaw clenching, eyes shutting as he hears this godawful ghost next to him keep. Freaking. Laughing.

Bill’s enjoying his little game, where he can do whatever and say whatever he wants, unseen.  Making Dipper look stupid must be entertaining as hell to him. Talking this over with Wendy won’t help. She won’t believe that there’s a haunted house, unless-

“Bill _did_ steal my clothes. Because he’s an asshole.” Dipper says, jaw unclenching - “Good thing you can’t see him, though.” He levels a glare at the spirit. “He’s hideous.”

“Eh?” Bill stops laughing, blinking at him. He straightens up. The humor’s gone now, replaced by confusion.

“Yeah. Completely hideous.” Dipper keeps glaring. “And not very bright.”

“Hey!”  Bill starts looking affronted.

Screw him. That’s what Dipper wants, anyway. If Bill likes exploiting his invisible, unhearable thing? Fine. Two can play at that game. He can paint whatever picture he likes of Bill to his friend, and he’s going to make one the spirit won’t like in the slightest.

“Nobody in their right mind would intentionally strip for him. He didn’t give me a choice.” Dipper says, trying to keep his voice light, even as Bill sputters out another protest. “It’s a _poltergeist_. They pull this kind of prank. They’re bastards.”

“I offer you the best time of your life, and _this_ is how you repay me?” Bill bridles with indignation. “I was more than generous, y’know!”

Dipper’s on the right track. This isn’t how Bill wants to be seen - as far as he _can_ be seen. Not having any recourse is getting to him.

He ignores Bill’s irritation, turning back to Wendy. She…  still thinks he’s lost it, the gentle look has turned into one of real, undisguised worry.

“He’s like a-” He searches his memory for something old, that will _really_ offend Bill - “A nosferatu, or - anyway, all… gross and withered and… really poorly dressed.” He watches Bill fume in the corner of his vision- “Be glad you don’t have to look at him.”

None of what Dipper’s saying applies to Bill, truly, he’s. Well. Impressive. Enough so that Dipper nearly lept into bed with him - before he knew about the ghost thing - after only an hour or so of hanging out. But lying about Bill’s relative attractiveness is fine... because that’s the _point_.

“This is _slander_.” Bill grumbles, starting to tap his foot against the floor.

Dipper turns back towards Bill. Might as well talk to the guy directly. He can’t look any crazier than he already _does_.

“Yeah, maybe it’s slander, but hey, what are you going to do about it? Show her a picture? Tell her I’m lying? I’m _not_ taking that back.” Dipper says, casually. He turns his head away, looking up at the ceiling- Dipper saw this, when he fled, earlier. And he needs it. When Bill’s pissed off enough…

“You _are_ lying!” Bill’s absolutely indignant, standing straight and angry. “Quit while you’re ahead, kid.”

“What’s going on?” Now Wendy’s looking nervous, tensing up - and Bill is starting to seethe.

“So go ahead, Bill. _Prove me wrong_ . Say something!” He crosses his arms. Actually, Dipper feels a little guilty about this... but it’s the push he needs. “Or show up in the flesh. Oh, wait!” He says, brightly.” He adds a smirk. Just for emphasis. “You _can’t_.”

It does the trick.

The lights flicker. Several bulbs in the chandelier above them explode with soft pops, and a small shower of fine glass starts raining down.

“What the hell?” Wendy startles, suddenly tense.

The hallway door she came through slams shut with a vengeance, and she almost jumps in surprise.

Wendy turns and tenses, lifting up her axe again. This time, it’s not resting idly on her shoulder. She’s ready to swing at something. “Seriously, what the _hell_ was that?”

 _Proof_. Finally.

“I told you, poltergeist.” Dipper turns back to Bill, who’s glaring at him now, arms crossed. “Who’s an idiot. _”_

“Holy _crap._ ” Wendy looks around, then frowns, looking ready for action. It’s a sight that’d make Dipper so, so happy - if he thought she could actually _do_ something. “Alright, we’ll...” She trails off.

“You can’t hit him.” Dipper knows what Wendy’s after. She wants a target, and she can’t find one. “That’s not important right now.” Jabbing a thumb behind himself, he faces Bill head-on. “Get the door _._ ”

“Is it just me,” Wendy says, backing up a little towards the doorway, still wielding the axe. She gives Dipper a glare. “Or don’t you think _pissing off_ the ghost is a bad plan?”

She’s grimacing, but thank hell, she’s starting to _believe_ him.

“Your friend’s got the right of it.” Bill says, teeth clenched. His fun has been ruined, and now he’s annoyed. “I _tried_ to do this the nice way, but no! You just _had_ to go and make this a pain in the ass.”

“He wants to keep me here _,_ maybe for the rest of my life _,_ ” Dipper says, ignoring both those comments. “And I’d really like to get out before he manages it. Just _get the door_ , I’ll- I can handle him.”

For a moment, Wendy hesitates, then - Some of the lamps, and tables start floating, just a little. Bill’s glaring with annoyance. Dipper’s stunt _worked_ , and Bill’s… angry. Not good.

“Right. Door.” Wendy sounds a little strained. Whatever doubts she had? Sound like they’ve been thrown away.  “Crap, Dipper, I can’t believe you-” She lets out a groan of frustration, then charges out of Dipper’s line of sight - he keeps watching Bill.

Dipper can punch Bill if he needs to, and keep him away from his friend. He’ll let Wendy do the work on their escape route.

“Oh. Oh man. You, Pines, are certainly _something_.” Bill stalks in close, but - now, he’s smiling again. “That makes twice that you’ve slipped outta my grasp, and you’re trying for a third. Real persistent, aren’tcha?”

Dipper tenses up. Behind himself, he hears Wendy struggling with the door.

She swears, softly. “It’s locked.”

 _Ghost_ locked, at that - shit. Even if they  _weren’t_ , Bill controls the doors in this house. He just slammed one shut, he could hold them in place…

 _Where is the way out._ There has to be one. Dipper just has to find it. If he can find a ghost, he can find an exit in a house this huge.

“I’m not going to be good company.” Dipper says. He squares his shoulders, trying to seem confident. “I’d be the _worst_ guest you’ve ever had.” If only out of spite. “I’ll make your… afterlife a living hell.” He thinks for a moment. “An _afterliving_ hell. You’ll hate every second of it.”

Bill seems happy despite that. Now he’s grinning.

Dipper’s heart starts to sink. He glances back at Wendy - still struggling with the door, trying to ram it open with one shoulder, axe leaning up against the wood - She needs time, so he stops backing away, standing straight.

“So. Uh. Terrible company.” He clears his throat, even as Bill comes within arm’s reach. ”You might as well let us go.”

“I’ve got a better idea!” Bill says brightly - though he stops, and reaches out a hand. That velvety red box - resting calmly on a table before - soars into his grasp.

“Dipper?” Wendy calls out from behind him, though Dipper’s looking at this thing in Bill’s hands, he doesn’t turn - “What’s going on?” She must see the box, even though she can’t see Bill - she sounds even more tense.

Bill, meanwhile, is smiling. He holds the thing out, balanced on his palm, and when he speaks, it’s calm, and happy- “Take it.”

Dipper stares and- he snags the box from Bill, and clutches it to his chest, maybe it’s important, maybe he can hurt Bill with it, but… that doesn’t make sense, not with it being offered so easily. Plus, this ghost is _still_ smiling, there’s furniture just floating around the foyer like gravity’s been turned off, and the lights dim and brighten, randomly-

And there’s a sudden _crack-thunk-crack_ , loud and splintering. Then another.

Bill looks behind Dipper, looking startled, even gasping - then looking absolutely _furious_.

When Dipper turns to look over his shoulder, Wendy’s pulling the battleaxe out of the wooden door, again. Bracing one foot against it to get more leverage. Her teeth are gritted together, but it pulls out, and she’s grinning now, triumphant. Already, there’s several chunks biting deep into the wood, and with a few more hits, it’ll be _more_ than that.

So Bill can close the doors, and open them. Wendy can chop the things _down_. She’s awesome, and smart, and Dipper’s smiling again now, and going to buy her all the time she needs to get them both _out of this._

“Alright, that? Is _enough._ ” Bill says, weirdly quiet. He almost looks calm. This isn’t reckless anger. This is cold, _serious_ anger -

That quickly becomes _literally cold_ , he’s doing his stupid thermostat thing again.

Wendy leans back for another swing-

Her weapon gets yanked out from her grip, nearly dragging her into the air _with_ it before she loses her grasp and falls. Dipper watches his friend slide down, struggling to keep her weapon, then landing on her butt with a soft grunt.

The axe spins through the air - he feels wind brush over him as it zips by, close - only to thunk into the floor.

Right next to Bill.

Bill, the poltergeist.

Who’s dead. Who’s not even a tenth the gracious host he was pretending to be. Who’s sneaky, and malicious- and again, bizarrely, _happy_. His arms are crossed in annoyance, but the sharp, smug look on his face is deeply unnerving.

“Crap, that-” He hears Wendy getting up, a pause... then- “Oh, crap.” Her boots thump on the floor as she charges over, and Dipper looks- she stops, standing next to him. Holding one protective arm in front of him, head turning as she searches the room. “Where is he?”

Wendy believes him now. It’s _great_. Not like she has much choice, Bill’s been doing ghost things that are. Kind of unavoidable.

It’s a lot _less_ great that they’re both pretty screwed.

Bill moves things.Bill controls everything in this house - Dipper shuts his eyes, clutching this stupid whatever-it-is to his naked chest with one arm, and the other grips onto the sleeve of Wendy’s flannel shirt.

“Right in front of us.” He watches, feeling a little numb. Bill wiggles his eyebrows, and smirks. Dipper also feels like he should be scared, but... “Don’t move. I’ll…  talk to him.”

Wendy’s got a firm hand on his bare shoulder, gripping tight. She’s just about as nervous as Dipper’s ever seen her.

“About time.” Bill chuckles quietly. “Open ‘er up, kid! And put it on.”

Put _what_ on-

Dipper blinks, and lets go of Wendy’s shirt. He holds that red, velvety - jewelry, that’s what this is - box in front of himself. It’s largeish. It’s got something, with… some purpose inside.

“Dipper? No offense, but if there _is_ some ghost dude talking to you-” Wendy sounds tense- “I’d like to know what’s going on.” Her hand on his bare shoulder is tight, clenching and unclenching.

“I’d tell you if I knew.” He mutters, and opens the box.

It’s a necklace.

Mostly silver, and that other bit’s maybe gold - a braided chain with a large, triangular pendant, weird little scribbles on it. He doesn’t recognize any of it.

And he’s not an idiot.

There’s a poltergeist who knows all about life, and death, and he wants to keep a living human beside him. There is, somehow, a way to mess around with those energies, Bill said as much. He was fetching _this_ to help his captive ‘settle in’.

Dipper shuts the box with a sharp snap, glaring at Bill. “No way.” Maybe Bill doesn’t want to kill him, but he’s _dead_ certain he’s going to be in deep shit if he even _touches_ this thing. “Just let us go.”

“I gotta take my hat off to your friend here.” Bill says smoothly - skimming right over Dipper’s request - and he gestures at Wendy, doffing an imaginary hat at her. He’s still smug. Still so unnervingly certain. “I’ve seen grown men wet themselves under less pressure! Pretty tough cookie.” He tilts his head to the side.

Wendy’s confused, glancing between Dipper and the apparently empty space where he’s been staring. “Okay, no offense man, but this is _not_ exactly what I signed up for when we came here.” A beat. Then she lifts her chin proudly. “But I’m not  gonna let some jackass ghost scare me.”

“Good thing I couldn’t, too!” says Bill, cheerful as anything - The poltergeist grins, then says, slow, and smug. “She’s _just_ what I needed. Even brought along the right tools!”

Dipper thought Bill was only after _him_ , where does _she_ fit into this?

“Wait, what do you-” The box in his hands snaps open again, clipping his fingers painfully. He hisses in pain, nearly dropping it, fumbles, catches it again.

“How about a deal?”

“No deals, no- what do you _want_?” Dipper shifts closer to Wendy. He hates how desperate he sounds, but he’s not sure-

“Tell you what!” Bill says brightly, stepping in close. Why does he have to come so close, all the time, Dipper leans up against Wendy and she holds onto his shoulder, solid and real. “Listen up, Pines. If you put that trinket on,” A smirk, a step to one side, and -

Dipper almost shoves Wendy away from the spirit - but Bill’s hand passes through her as if _she’_ s the one who isn’t there. He sighs, jabbing a thumb at her. “ I’ll let you guys walk.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.” Dipper mutters. Bill’s been adamant about him staying. “I won’t-”

“That’s the carrot!” Bill interrupts, ignoring him - His arms cross.

The axe swings up from where it was embedded in the floor, floating - and makes a quick slice at Wendy’s side. Dipper gets pushed away from it, and stumbles as Wendy dodges, awkwardly. She falls onto her side and scrambles up, fast.

“There’s the stick.” Smirking, Bill lets the axe tumble around in idle circles in the air. He waves a finger. “Play along? And I open those doors and let you do as you please.”

“Oh, _crap_.” Wendy dodges, again, tense and angry, and she's being driven backwards

“Don’t dawdle, kid!” Bill is floating again, leaning forward. “I get another no? Maybe she isn’t an entire person. Hey, you look like the kinda guy who can tie a tourniquet!” The weapon bites into the floor again with a ‘thunk’, driving Wendy back again as she swears. “She could last a _while._ **_”_ **

Wendy’s fists are clenched tight. When she stands again, it’s straight-backed and confident. “Okay, you wanna fight, jerk? Hey, Dipper! You know this stuff, how do you beat up a ghost?”

She’s ready for a fight that she _can’t win_ , and Bill….

Dipper cringes.

A poltergeist can hurt people. _Easily_. There have been _incidents_. There is also a freakin’ _battleaxe_ swinging - almost playfully - at Dipper’s friend because of this smug, asshole, jerkwad of a ghostly bastard, with his smug grin.

There’s a time limit here, and it’s based on Bill’s patience. A resource they’re rapidly running out of.

Maybe Bill might have been a decent guy, at some point. He’s shown it, in flashes, though all his ‘good host’ routine had an undertone of ‘jerk’ to it. Maybe he was _always_ an asshole, but death can’t have improved that.

Bill’s had nobody who can see him, throughout however many decades it’s been. Nobody who can talk to him, and he _loves_ talking and showing off. Dipper has no idea how long this guy’s been dead, but clearly it’s been long enough that - between never getting a response to his talking, never a bit of conversation, never getting all the attention he feels he deserves, never feeling another person’s _touch-_

Somewhere along the line, during his undeath, Bill went _insane_. There’s no reasoning with him.

Dipper takes a deep breath and gets in between Wendy and this asshole.

Bill quirks an eyebrow, weapon stilling.

“Okay, okay! You win, I’ll-” Possibly make the dumbest choice, but he doesn’t see another way forward - “Promise me you’re telling the truth.”

“Dude, what’re you doing-?” Wendy tries to move around him, to face him, but he holds her back with one outspread arm.

That stupid smirk on Bill’s face needs to go. It’s irritating on so many levels. “Cross my heart and ho-”

“Hope to die, yeah,” Dipper shuts his eyes and sucks in a breath through his teeth. _Bill_ is irritating on so many levels. “Just promise.”

A moment. Bill glances over Dipper. “Yeah, alright. Not one word a lie.” And he smiles again. “Go for it, kid. Not like you got much else to lose, am I right?”

 _So_ not reassuring. Also, probably the best deal Dipper’s going to get.

Dipper picks up the horrible, stupid, terrible necklace from its box, triangle pendant dangling as he grips the chain with two fingers. Nothing immediately obvious happens. That’s worrying all by itself. He lets the box fall.

“What are you doing?” Wendy asks, tense with concern.

He swallows, and undoes the weird clasp on the thing. It takes him a second to even find it, it opens under his fumbling.  “Something really stupid.” The cool metal trails smoothly against his skin, as he reaches behind his neck. Without any urging, the clasp shuts -

 _On its own_ , clipping his fingertips painfully - with an oddly deep ‘clack’.

He wonders if that’s how a coffin lid sounds, when it closes.

Bill heaves a long, pleased sigh. His eyes shut.

The lights stop flickering, and most of the furniture returns to where it was, though an end table and lamp or two fall and shatter, or tumble onto their sides. The axe drops to the ground with a clanging clatter.

“There! Was that so hard?” Bill asks, cocking his head to one side. “Easy as pie.”

Dipper fiddles with the thick braid of the necklace. It’s cold and smooth on his skin. “You promised-”

Bill snaps his fingers.

The sound of the double doors swinging creakily outward is such a deep, satisfying relief. The cool night breeze drifts in and gusts over Dipper’s bare back.

Next to him, Wendy lets out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Dude, awesome.” She punches him gently on the shoulder, looking around. “Guess we can get out now,” And she pauses. She looks suspicious. Dipper’s starting to feel the same- “How’d that work?”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t _feel_ any different. Bill’s calm and still, as always, smug - He touches the necklace again. He can barely squeeze two fingers under its chain. It’s tight and reminds him, uncomfortably, of a collar.

His stomach twists.

Okay. This? Was even more of a bad idea than coming here in the first place.

“Exit. Go,” He turns and starts pushing his friend towards the open door, even though it confuses her. Dipper’s face feels hot - but he’s going to help Wendy, even if she won’t like it. “Just go.”

Bill is laughing again, and Dipper _hates_ him, and he hates _ghosts_ , and he’s still going to make sure _someone_ gets out of here.

He gets Wendy to the doorway before he stops pushing. He stands still, hands by his sides, watching her keep going for a few steps - and then she turns back, looking absolutely baffled.

“Dipper, what the hell? Come on!” Wendy’s surprised, she beckons him in. “We’re out, let’s go.”

“You can.” At least Bill let _her_ go. He lived- _un_ lived up to that part, at least. “I can’t.” No point in trying. The threshold’s right in front of him.

Behind him, Bill makes a disappointed noise. Dipper shuts his eyes.

“Kind of a shame, Pines. I was looking forward to you running facefirst into it.” Bill says behind him. The spirit sounds amused, his voice almost next to Dipper’s ear. They’re not touching, but if Bill had body heat, Dipper’s sure he’d be able to feel it. “Nice, though. Wasn’t expecting you to catch the _catch_.”

Bill was true to his word, fine. His tricky, double-talking word.

Dipper reaches out, and his palm hits the threshold like it was pressed up against a pane of glass. Blue light glows around it. When he pushes, hard - even slams a shoulder up against it, the light brightens dramatically, but _nothing_ gives.

Wendy watches, wide-eyed - and Dipper sighs, lowering his head.

The poltergeist is tied to the house. Now Dipper is, too.

He can do ‘whatever he pleases’... except _leave_.

Because Bill’s a jackass, who had something in store, just for such an occasion. It would be _just like_ him to have something on hand in case he wanted to kidnap a living person, That seems like exactly the type of _total dick_ move Bill would pull.

Dipper feels around the damned piece of jewelry he _idiotically_ put on, but whatever clasp it had... isn’t there anymore. This thing’s solid and smooth all the way around, now.

Probably, he thinks, it’s magic. Dipper thought that didn’t exist anymore than ghosts did, though it would be _awesome_ if they did.

Finding out they _do_ exist is way less awesome than he’d hoped.

“Wendy, get going.” He insists, leaning up against the barrier. “You’ve got to-”

She charges forward. “Hey, no way I’m leaving you behind.” He gets grabbed by the wrist - but it’s still sore from where Bill was gripping it, he yanks his hand back. “C’mon,” Wendy’s eyes widen - then narrow, serious.

The lights behind Dipper are flickering again. Bill’s getting annoyed - Dipper shoves an elbow behind him, and the lights stabilize as Bill yelps.  

Wendy grunts in annoyance, hands on her hips. “Dipper, I’m not just going to _leave_ you here-”

“You aren’t ditching me.” And for a second, Dipper actually manages to smile. If she didn’t before, she won’t now. “I’ll be fine-” Probably, maybe, hopefully he’ll be fine - “You have to go get _help_.”

She frowns, nods, opens her mouth as she -very reluctantly, takes a couple steps away from the door-  turns to glance back at him - “But, dude, what-”

The doors slam shut so suddenly that the edge of one catches her hat, sending it spinning into the foyer. Dipper flinches, hands held up in front of him as the wood slams right in front of his face.

Bill snorts. “Man, you made that _way_ harder on everyone than it shoulda been.” Bill slides a couple fingers over Dipper’s hip - Dipper slaps them, hard, and feels a vicious spark of pleasure as Bill yanks his awful, gropey hand back. “Your fault, kid! You made me play hardball.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Dipper stares forward at the wood inches from his face. There’s a few hard thuds, and he hears what’s probably Wendy’s fist beating on the doorway, along with some muffled swearing.

“Ah, well,” Bill says, sighing, sounding happy. “I got what I needed.”

Dipper leans his forehead against the doors, tense, and worried. There’s a quiet chuckle from the spirit, but it lowers in volume slowly -  sounds like Bill’s walking away. Dipper touches the door in front of him, trailing his fingers down it.

Sure, Bill got something. It’s not company. That’s part of it, no question about that, but Dipper’s going to live up to what he said. Bill’s not going to have someone fun to be around, not if he can help it.

There has to be something _else_ Bill wants from this.

This poltergeist’s got _a plan_ in mind. And it’s not about what didn’t happen in the bedroom, or taking Dipper’s life. Dipper would _bet_ said life that there’s more to this than Bill wanting someone who can hear him rambling. That can’t be everything, there’s something _else_ going on here.

Dipper wishes he knew what it was. Maybe that would give him some time to prepare for it, because he’s got a sinking feeling that it’s _not_ going to be good.

He doesn’t know how to stop this ghost, he’s got nothing on hand, he’s basically naked, and he’s outclassed in knowing how the spiritual realm works. He’s got _nothing_ to use against a mostly-intangible, intelligent, insane spirit.

 _Yet_.

When he turns back to Bill, he straightens up, and squares his shoulders. At the foot of the staircase, Bill is looking around, eminently pleased with himself, and runs his gaze over his captive, smirking.

“You’re not going to get away with this.” Dipper’s not going to let that happen. No matter what.

“Looks like I already have!” Bill stands in front of the staircase, beaming and spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to my place, kid!” He gestures broadly over the mansion, and the lights grow brighter. “Couldn’t tell you how happy I am to have a new guest.”

And he bows, dramatically, before glancing up at Dipper with a sharp, satisfied smile.

“I got a feeling you’ll _really_ liven up the place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's one plot hurdle I've managed. Let's see if I manage to clear the next one a little quicker.


	7. Chapter 7

Bill is a bastard. He seems used to getting what he wants. And when he wants Dipper somewhere, there’s no resisting him.

Dipper takes a deep breath, tensing, clutching the arms of the chair he’s in - and groans.

Now, they’re in the library again.

Dipper waits a little longer, hands clenched- Then he clears his throat. “So, uh.” He looks around, shifting in his seat. “Were you….?” He’s not really sure how to continue, his words trail off.

Bill’s hovering in the middle of the circle of chairs, leaned back, relaxed. One hand rests on his chin, and he’s frowning in concentration. Books drift lazily through the air in a whirl, clapping open and shut, darting from place to place - either back into their shelf, or into different stacks on the floor beneath him.

The chair Dipper’s sitting in is a very soft, plush piece of furniture. No danger here. But. He _should_ try to pay attention to what Bill’s doing - he looks up with a jolt - where nothing’s happened, besides the search.

Dipper taps his palms in an idle beat against the fabric, slowing down as he leans to one side, and sighs. He lets his head drop, but - he shouldn’t let his guard down.

He opens his eyes with a start, straightening up and shaking his head, blinking rapidly. A few seconds pass - but no, Dipper’s still being ignored. He sighs for a second time, and leans an elbow against the arm of his chair, resting his chin in his palm.

Dipper got hauled along by the ghost into this place. He was tense, knees almost locked in place as he strode along like a doll - wondering ‘ _what if_ ’ and ‘ _what could_ ’, up until… he was shoved into the seat from earlier.

And he stayed. Hands clenched on his knees, staring at the floor. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it has to have been at _least_ two, maybe three hours by now.

Bill’s muttering something, very quietly to himself. Completely ignoring Dipper. The piles of books are building up into an order Dipper doesn’t understand, but there’s some reason behind it. And it means Bill’s distracted... He taps his fingers against the arm of the plush chair - hesitates, for a second -

Then stands, freezing in place in case he needs to act, fast.

Strangely, Bill doesn’t stop Dipper from leaving his seat. He doesn’t even seem to notice it. Dipper lets himself relax, only a little. He rubs at his sore wrist.

Since he met Bill, he’s been manhandled, and offered - things, the former was unpleasant and the other _very_ pleasant, before he’d realized. He’s tired, starting to get hungry, still mostly naked, and he has no means of escape. He’s the captive of an crazy undead multimillionaire in an abandoned mansion, who controls every inch of the place, who could do _whatever_ he wants to Dipper, and...

Dipper’s been…

Shoved into a comfy chair and ignored for several hours.

This has fallen so drastically short of scary, especially for a ghost, that he almost feels disappointed. Weird as it sounds, despite everything, despite what _could_ happen, at any time…

Dipper’s getting _bored_.

What is he supposed to do, sit here being, what, something to look at? Bill hasn’t made any moves, or ogled or anything. He’s after something else entirely.

Dipper shakes himself, taking a deep breath. Standing around waiting for whatever Bill does next gives the ghost a headstart on his… thing he’s doing. Time to take action. He frowns, and wanders into the middle of the slow-turning literary whirlwind, glancing around -

A book thunks gently against his forehead as he turns, and it drops like a rock. Dipper startles, but catches it awkwardly - darts another startled glance at Bill.

No reaction.

Interesting information. It’s good to know that Bill can control whatever object he wants in the house -As long as he’s paying _attention_ to it.

Dipper files that fact away for later. It’s valuable knowledge, and if he wants to get _out_ of this place, he’ll need everything he can scrape together.

He’s not going to be blind to Bill’s intentions anymore. Or be easy to deal with anymore. Or be good company anymore, or... do _anything_ that makes Bill’s afterlife easier. No matter what, he’s got that.

He tosses the book up gently in one hand, catches it, then tosses it again, catches it - Bill’s still  not paying attention - then he leans back, and _hurls_ the stupid leatherbound volume at the poltergeist. Unsurprisingly, it passes right through him. Hitting Bill has to be done by flesh, or not at all. More information, not all that useful. Dipper already guessed that. His shoulders slump. 

Bill _notices_ it, though.

He straightens up, blinking. It takes a second as he turns - then he starts, seeing Dipper again. “Oh! Right, you.” Bill drifts back down, ‘standing’ on the floor and looking curiously at the book Dipper threw. He frowns. “What’d you chuck that for?”

Dipper looks around - Getting Bill’s attention might not have been a good idea. “Uh.” He doesn’t know what to say. Why is he _here_.

Bill looks Dipper over casually, though now, the books have stopped sorting themselves. They float in place in the air. Spread out like this, hovering - it’s like an underwater minefield. Only literary. Dipper reaches out and pokes a book on the spine -

It drops, instantly, and hits the ground with a clatter.

“Huh,” Bill says, with deep feeling. He crosses his arms, frowning even more, eyes almost shut. “Interesting.”

Dipper… maybe shouldn’t’ve done _that_ , either, but Bill doesn’t seem bothered. He leans over, careful, always keeping an eye on Bill - and picks the book up, setting it awkwardly on top of one of the stacks.“So…” He starts, then hesitates.

Bill’s starting to lose focus again, looking away - some of the floating books start to turn around and open -There’s so much going on, there’s so many things Dipper needs to deal with, he knows basically nothing, but…

Here’s someone who likes spiritual, occult things. Even before he became a part of them. And it’s someone who’s had time to do nothing but study it for… however long he’s been like this. There’s a brain to pick on on the subject, right in front of him.

Trusting Bill entirely would be a bad move, but he _loves_ talking. He hasn’t had anyone to talk to in _ages_.

Dipper walks forward, grabbing Bill’s shoulder - he startles, but moves easily, turning around. Bill even smiles.

When he tries to place a hand over the one on his shoulder, though, Dipper pulls his arm away, fast. He’ll touch Bill if he has to. But Bill doesn’t get to touch back.

Even though Bill doesn’t _need_ to breathe, he’s _dead_ \- he rolls his eyes as he sighs, disappointed. “Yeah, what’dya want, kid?”

“What do _you_ want from _me?_ ” Dipper immediately wishes that sounded more defiant. Or less tired.

Bill frowns. He taps his chin for a second in thought. Then he leans up against a stack of books, resting his elbow down, and chuckles.

“You’re pretty queer, Pines.”

“That’s not funny.” Dipper clenches his fists.  
  
One of Bill’s eyebrows goes up. “Fine, then. You’re strange. Bizarre, or whatever. You’re _weird_.” He waves off the wording like it doesn’t matter - “By all rights this little chat of ours? Shouldn’t be happening.”

“You can say that again,” Dipper mutters. By all rights he shouldn’t still _be_ here. He touches the necklace, cold on his skin.  
  
Bill gives him a dry look. “Who’s being funny now? So!” He clasps his hands together, rubbing them, “Aside from yours truly,” He claps a hand to his chest, looking smug. “You _sure_ you’ve never seen a spirit?”

What a stupid question. Dipper only mentioned that like, six times - he folds his arms, and glares. “No. I told you-”

Almost instantly Bill interrupts. “Not saying anything about your smarts, kid. You didn’t catch on to _me_ , and I _know_ I’m dead.”

“Okay, _how_ would I not have noticed? I mean-” He’s been to dozens of haunted places, if he had- if there _was_ something weird about him-  “I think I would’ve remembered someone telling me about their murder, or,” He throws his hands in the air, confused -  Bill starts smiling again - “Seeing someone soaked in _blood-_ ”

He gets interrupted, loud, shameless laughter from Bill as he waves off everything Dipper just said. “No, no, no, nothing like-” Bill chortles, then clears his throat. “Kind of an amatuer, arent’cha?”  
  
Dipper rubs at his face. Compared to _Bill_ , yes, he is, but - “Shut up.”

“Ah, we all had to start somewhere,” Bill says, sounding like the kind of condescending jackass he is, giving Dipper a slow bow. “Lemme explain.”

One of the books glides through the air, fast - it slaps against Dipper’s chest. He clutches at it in confusion, glancing back at his captor.

Bill is leaning against his literary pillar, relaxed, and looking around. His fingers tap on the stack of books. He’s thinking of something.

“Okay, so.” Bill says, slowly turning back to look at Dipper. “Tell me, kid. What _is_ a spirit?”

Easy, Dipper knows this. “It’s…  someone’s life leaves an impression on-”

Bill groans, rolling his eyes, head tilted back, a picture of frustration with some inept pupil. “No, no, no. It’s… not _life_ , Pines. It’s part of a mind, kid. A memory!” Bill snorts softly. “That’s why nasty murders get such a nice ‘ _impression’_.” Dipper can hear the quotes dropped in around the word, and Bill taps himself on the chest with a fist, slowly walking forward. “Kinda at the forefront of the brain at the time their ticker quit.”

He continues. “So you got your ‘oh, no, I’m dead’ type, where the moment they crossed over is all they got - there’s your bloody, gunshot wound, stabbed look. And then you got your…” Bill is very close now, Dipper leans back - but this spirit stops a pace away, frowning - then sighs. “Look, kid, my point is, if they don’t remember dying? It ain’t gonna show.”

Dipper shifts in place. “And… what does that have to do with-”

“It has to do with _you_ , because you can-” Bill raises his hands, he gestures - but he apparently falls short of describing what he wants, he drops his arms after a couple seconds. “I mean, cripes, kid, you coulda walked right up to a guy on the street who got bumped off thirty minutes ago, and had a perfectly fine conversation,” Here he grips his hands together - “Right down to _shaking his hand_.” Bill shrugs, shaking his head very slightly. Almost seemingly baffled. “And you’d never even know.”

That.... might be true.

Dipper can hear Bill. Actually can’t _stop_ hearing Bill. However the spirit’s managing to talk, it doesn’t involve actual sound. Dipper can see Bill, too, and other than being lukewarm to the touch... Bill _feels_ totally human. Looking him over - Dipper frowns -

Bill seems perfectly alive. Healthy, solid, present, and _real_.

Crap, maybe Dipper _is_ weird.

It’s confusing, though, because-

“Look, that doesn’t make sense, I’ve been to all kinds of haunted places, and…” He trails off, uncertain. One of them would be truly haunted, right? He’d have _seen_ something by now.

“Sure, sure! I’d bet you’ve been to plenty of _formerly_ haunted places. But give it a few years?” Bill turns away, waving dismissively - some of the floating books start returning to their shelves. The conversation must be interesting to him, because he seems calmly content.  “Nothing left to see.” Bill shrugs. “Funny thing about memories, kid. They _fade_.”

And that is _very_ interesting information.

“Really,” Dipper says, slow. If that’s the case… He can’t be trapped here forever, maybe - things will weaken, this _spirit_ will weaken, and then-

Bill must catch something in his expression, because he suddenly bursts out laughing. Dipper’s mood immediately drops.

“Don’t get your hopes up kid!” Bill says, striding forward only to tap Dipper on the cheek -

Dipper backs away, fast, and almost knocks over a stack of books in his retreat. He’ll punch Bill again if he has to. Crazy poltergeists might like touch, but pain’s not his favorite sensation. He likes getting close. That’s not something Dipper’s going to allow. Not on Bill’s terms.

Oddly, Bill doesn’t follow. He’s smiling a lot less, and blinks a few times before taking a deep breath, and letting it out. “‘Cause I ain’t going _nowhere_.”

Retreating’s still the plan, so Dipper hugs the book to his chest, scoots around behind one of  the chairs. Objects aren’t going to stop this spirit, but it makes Dipper feel better to have something between them.

Bill’s...Not paying attention again. He stays in place, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Dipper stares.

Bill can’t have been older than thirty when he… passed. Certainly he looks young-ish, somewhere in his twenties. 

But for one moment, he looks far older. If only from sheer exhaustion.

Bill straightens up, suddenly, smiling again. “So, kid! You wanna know the worst thing about being dead?”

Where did that - where is _any_ of this going. Everything has a weird twist with this guy, and for all Bill’s said, he _still_ hasn’t answered that first question.

“What?”

Bill laughs. It’s quiet, and he spreads his arms, gesturing around. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Dipper shifts where he stands.

He doesn’t have an answer, he’s not sure what to say. Tonight taught him a lesson about how observant he is, maybe he missed something. He’s sure he’s missing a lot of things, he clears his throat, thinking - what would be _obvious_ -

Bill’s not helping either, looking like that. Silently prompting, eerily smiling, his arms still spread wide.

They stand together in silence.

When it’s quiet. Without Bill’s chatter filling in the gaps… It’s easy to notice everything else.

Dipper rubs at one arm.

This mansion’s… not as brightly lit as a modern building. All the lamps cast strange shadows. It smells mostly like books in the library, but it’s musty. Dipper shuffles his feet on the carpet - it’s soft, when you fluff it up, but years of going un-stepped on means it’s stiff with age.

There’s more than enough elaborate decoration in the mansion. It’s not that the rooms aren’t all packed with stuff, crowded full of old Cipher crap built up over the years - but that’s all they are. Stuff.

He’s suddenly all too aware of how... _empty_ this place is.

“ _Exactly_." Bill says, still smiling. The lights flicker. Dipper freezes in place. “It's that nothing. Ever.” Bill leans in, setting his hands next to Dipper’s on the headrest of the chair, clenched tight. “ _Changes_.”

There’s a soft popping sound, as another lightbulb explodes -

The look on Bill’s face is still a smile. And there’s absolutely no humor in it.

Dipper swallows dryly.

"Anyway!" Bill backs up, smiling, arms spread wide. “Life, Death. They’re separate things! And on this side of the tracks, kid, there’s not too much I can do! But _you’re_ a different story.”

“So what?”

This mansion doesn’t _have_ to scare people away - it’s all from Bill.

This absurd, insane, unchangeable spirit. He’s in control of this mansion. _Everything_ has to do with Bill _._ Every accident, every frightening thing, a spirit who is far from friendly, who doesn’t tolerate the living in his place -

Who keeps _talking_.

“Tell me.” Bill tilts his head to one side. He’s stopped in front of the chair between himself and Dipper. He leans forward - Dipper leans back before their faces meet - but now Bill’s frowning. “Ever had a near-death experience?”

Dipper shakes his head.

“Okay! Fine! So, no recent head trauma?” Why is Bill asking that, Dipper shakes his head again. Bill looks annoyed -“You’re absolutely _sure_ you have no… weird birth circumstances, or traumatic brain injuries-”

“Fuck you. I’m _fine_ ,” Dipper insists, tense.

“Whatever, I’ll find out what’s weird about ya,” Bill says, dismissing that with a sharp gesture. 

Dipper clenches his hand harder on the back of the chair. The plush fabric crushes easily under his fingers.

Bill draws away, looking casual. “So! You, Pines, aren’t exactly your regular living guy! You’re a changeup!” He looks over his shoulder. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of why _you’re_ weird. And then, you,” He turns away again, shrugging, raising his arms. “Are gonna change things up for _me_.”

The lights are still flickering. Dipper hugs the book to his chest.

He doesn’t know how to ‘change’ anything. He doesn’t know what Bill is, what he wants, or how anything spiritual works. Every assumption he’s ever made about the afterlife have been thrown out the window, the second he understood what Bill was.

Ghosts _aren’t people_. They’re… not a fascinating glimpse into the past, that you can chat with. They’re. Something else.

What if Dipper _had_ met one, what if he didn’t notice. What if he _couldn’t’ve_ noticed. Are they really all in… some kind of stasis - _Bill_ says that, but Dipper can’t trust him.

Though to be fair to the other dead, most of them probably aren’t arrogant assholes. They’ve got that one over Bill.

Bill stretches, settling back. He sits back on nothing again, smiling. “I’ll handle the research,”  The books he’s chosen drift upwards, float again - open in front of him, then shut, or turn their pages. Bill winks, snaps his fingers, points at the book he’s handed over to Dipper - “You can keep your pretty face occupied with the _basics_.”

Dipper straightens up. He smiles, completely insincerely.

“Maybe I will.”

He turns, and walks out of this gorgeous, fucked-up library.

Dipper didn’t realize it in time, what Bill truly was and - he’s silently cursing himself for it.

Anyway, he's _not_ a pretty face. Nobody has ever said he’s a pretty face. Maybe he didn’t know what Bill was, for a time - and. That didn’t look great for his intellect, alright, maybe Bill might even _believe_ what he just said, but now he’s assuming that Dipper’s an _idiot_.

_Fuck that._

There’s all the information about the spiritual realm Dipper could ever ask for. Bill doesn’t care enough - underestimates Dipper enough - that he won’t stop Dipper from walking into this library, or studying the book he’s already been given - and he’s going to use _all of it_.

Bill’s a ghost. He’s…  a memory. A piece of a mind. If Bill was truly intelligent, not simply a _picture_ of a dead guy, he’d -

Dipper’s steps slow as he leaves the library. He glances back over his shoulder. “Hey,” He says, softly. Bill turns, blinking in mild disinterest. “Bill?”

“Yeah, what?”

Bill is sitting in midair again. He’s flipping through one of his books, frowning. Trying to work out how Dipper can do what he has been doing, and in a weird way, Dipper hopes he finds it. He’s more than a little curious. Bill’s intelligent, and talkative. He’ll spit it out, first thing. He thinks he has nothing to worry about, as he hovers around without a care.

Without a single hair out of place, too. Not a single wrinkle in his suit. No scabs or blood on his skin. There’s not a mark on him.

Dipper sterns himself. However it happened - Bill remembers, so- 

He asks. “How’d _you_ die?”

Everything stills.

The books stop moving. Bill stops frowning. His face is blank.

After a few seconds, he chuckles, his eyes close. He leans back further, relaxing - then waves. “Unpleasantly!” 

The doors to the library slam shut instantly. Dipper flinches back as the wood swings closed in front of his face with a deep ‘clack’. Well.

 _That_ topic is apparently off limits.

Bill is - something. He’s not upset. Not happy, either, and not willing to ramble on about how he… ended up like this.

But it’s another bit of information. Not the only thing Dipper’s learned tonight, either.

Someone in the Cipher family was a big reader. Who put bundles of cash into building up that collection, that has tons of books about spirits, and the afterlife. Bill studied spiritual matters, once upon a time. And he _is_ smart. He knows his family’s history and can talk on and on about all kinds of topics, Dipper heard enough of them during the tour. Bill even _said_ it was the best room.

No need to jump to conclusions here. It’s barely even a step.

That’s _Bill’s_ library.

There’s a lot of space in the mansion to choose from, but it’s clear that _that_ space is special to Bill. Cipher mansion has tons of parlors, bedrooms, lounges and music rooms, other rooms, more kinds that Dipper hasn’t even seen yet.

He wonders in which of them - if the poltergeist is tied to the house, it _had_ to have happened in the mansion, right? - is the one Bill....

Dipper clutches the book he was given tighter, feeling the cold leather under his thumbs. It’s the same one Bill tossed at him, earlier, before the tour. ‘Bridge between Life and -’

The other thing.

It almost certainly wasn’t in the library, or it wouldn’t still be Bill’s favorite place.

First things first. Sort out the basics, before he can work on the bigger problems. Dipper just… has to take this one step at a time.

The biggest problem is Bill. Fuck him. He can wait.

First is how to live like this. In an abandoned house. With an incorporeal madman. Living at _all_ is another problem, it means meeting all of those essential, living human needs.

It’s the middle of the night. His wrist hurts. He’s been threatened, _Wendy_ was threatened. He’s cold and he wants his clothes, he’s starting to get hungry, and god, he’s tired. One of those is thankfully easy. Though it means going back to-

God damn it.

Dipper trudges back towards the master bedroom, treading heavily on the carpet even though it sends up puffs of dust. He sneezes, wipes at his face.

Solving mysteries should be _exciting_ , not exhausting.

His steps slow as he reaches the master bedroom. All of the ectoplasm - that hideous bloodrain Bill made - has faded. Things are dark and dry, and still awkward, and uncomfortable.

The door is solid. Dark wood. It was heavy when he shoved it open before.Bill’s not here - Dipper glances over his shoulder - no sign of him, so. It’s probably safe. He tests the handle, and it’s unlocked. He pulls the door open -

Dipper darts inside and shuts it, hard. Even though Bill can get through any solid material, the solid ‘clack’ of the latch makes Dipper slump against the wood. It’s a barrier. A completely useless one, but it’s solid, and nice to pretend.

He trudges forward, shuffling around the floor to pick up his clothes. That’s _another_ barrier, one he let Bill pull away from his skin. Putting it back up feels good, and warm. Pulling his shirt and his pants back on is like settling armor around him. Something real, another layer to protect him, and - he wraps his arms around himself, breathing in deep. He holds his arms around himself, and stares at the dark, rumpled sheets of the bed.

These were messed up before he ever came in this room.

Dipper steps in close. He runs a hand over the sheets. They’re soft. Smooth. Maybe a little musty, like everything else here, but - When he leans in, hand sinking into the mattress - God, it’s _so soft._ He shuffles closer, and flopping halfway onto the mattress. He’s kneeling, chest on the bed.

Maybe this is Bill’s bed, if ghosts can sleep. Someone here loved comfort, and books, and was basically hedonistic - no guess as to who that was, he's only met the guy - and, well. Wow, this is comfortable.

 _So_ comfortable. Dipper shuts his eyes.

He shouldn’t fall asleep here, because - Bill comes here, all the time, and his knees are pressed uncomfortably against the carpet - and Dipper snorts, softly, shifting in place -

Just before he’s out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, that bit's over with. That took forever. Thank you Bill, for being exposition for this chapter.
> 
> Up next: Solving mysteries, and trying to survive.


	8. Chapter 8

Dipper should probably get up.  But there’s nothing he’s supposed to do today, as far as he can think of. And it’s comfortable here.

The covers so fluffy and warm, keeping in tons of heat. It might have been stifling, but there’s this full-length cool-side-of-the-pillow feeling pressed against his back, and draped over his side - one part of it even tucked between his legs.

This bed is awesome.

He shuffles in place, scooting backwards against that solid weight. The contrast between cool and warm -

Yes. Staying here is great, and comfortable. Best option. He rolls his face against his pillow, squeezes the cool weight between his thighs. It flexes, briefly, in between his legs, before relaxing as well.

Dipper snorts himself awake, eyes wide.

The bedroom is dark. He can’t see anything, but he can sure has hell feel things. And that’s an arm around his waist. A leg between his own. A face smooshed into his hair.

Bill. Again. Invading Dipper’s space. _Again_. Bill doesn’t move any air when he breathes, but his occasional snoring is still audible.

Dipper doesn’t groan in frustration, but only because it might get Bill’s attention.

So much for ever having nice things.

There’s a window in the bedroom, somewhere, Dipper saw that earlier - but not even the faintest bit of light is coming through the curtains. Still late - slash - early, nowhere near morning yet. He shifts in place, eyes shut. And this absolute _asshole_ had the sheer dickishness to crawl in bed with him. Greedy bastard wants everything he can get from -

Wait.

Dipper darts his eyes around. Looking for a catch.

If Dipper - reluctantly - shifts in place, he can feel Bill’s shirt against his back. When he pats this spirit’s arm, it’s visibly-slash-invisibly still clad in his suit jacket. He trails a foot down Bill’s leg…

Bill still even has his shoes on.

Okay. Dipper still needs to get out of here.

Bill’s closer than he should be, and it’s awkward as hell. But Bill’s only touching Dipper, not. _Touching_ Dipper. Both of them are still fully dressed, with two full layers of clothes between them. Four at the important bits.

And if he’s very careful - He can slowly slide his legs away from Bill’s. Then inch away from his chest, pushing at the arm around his waist as carefully as possible. Dipper makes his way to the edge of the bed, slowly, slowly sliding out of this ghost’s grasp-

When he finally drops off the edge of the bed, Dipper whirls around, backing up against the wall, ready for anything.

Bill makes a soft, almost disappointed sound, and rolls over. Snorts, and relaxes.

Dipper slides down to sit on the floor, butt hitting the carpet with an audible thump. He almost wants to laugh.

There have been incidents in the Cipher mansion. They’d also been so erratic that it’d been reasonable to blame them on accidents, instead of a ghost. It was totally reasonable to blame clumsy people, instead of supernatural powers.

But there is a ghost here. A poltergeist. An insane, powerful spirit.

Dipper watches Bill turn over again.

Bill’s unsettled now, frowning - when he moves, some of the blankets seem to touch him. Only intermittently. It has no rhyme or reason, or physics. Bill’s ‘body’ doesn’t act like a normal one. The blankets move when he does. Somewhat. Most of the time, they fall through him. He’s not consciously moving them.

Dipper watches this spirit for a while. His breathing slows.

Then he laughs, very quietly. No wonder the sheets were disturbed before.

Bill _sleeps_.

Or - he goes dormant. Or something. Hibernates, maybe?

Knowing what Dipper does _now_ \- he can’t tell how ghosts work, or what happens when a ‘mind impression’ sleeps. But Bill hasn’t faded over… however long it’s been.

No matter how Dipper looks at it, Bill’s weird.

Before Dipper wandered in here, all the clearly supernatural events were old enough to be stories. All that was left was that aura of fear. Maybe Bill caused things, later, too. Dipper doesn’t know what a conscious ghost can do compared to an unconscious one. Or if Bill was being subtle, after people started noticing him, and didn't want to attract attention.

Or maybe he _was_ asleep, for most of it. How much is intent? How much is instinct? How long has he slept. What's he done on purpose, and what's he done just by existing. There's no telling what caused anything, or how much of it  _was_ Bill's fault, over the decades.

But Bill was asleep. For a while.

Dipper’s fairly certain that’s part of why this place has been so calm the last couple of years. Barely anything’s happened, beyond the intermittent, excusable type of accident, and that aura making this place intrinsically terrifying.

Then last night, something woke Bill up.

Dipper has a pretty good idea of what _that_ was. 

For the first time in a long time Bill was active, and _aware_. Full of all his power. When he’s awake to control it...

Dipper stands up, back dragging against the wall, drawing his shirt back down. He darts forward enough to snag the book Bill gave him. It’d been kicked off the bed while he was napping, but he’s not letting it go now.

Whatever caused all of this. Whatever’s going on. Right now Bill is, temporarily, asleep. Dormant.

This is Dipper’s absolute best chance of getting out of here, while Bill’s… napping, or whatever the heck it is he’s doing. Dipper clutches the book to his chest. Sound may or may not alert Bill to what’s going on, but there’s no way in _hell_ Dipper’s taking any chances.

He tiptoes, very carefully, out of the room. Pushes the door open slowly. very slowly - winces when it creaks.

Bill’s still passed out.

Dipper backs out of the room on silent, unshod feet -

The second he gets the door shut again, Dipper takes off down the hall as quickly and silently as he can, jogging for the exit, but trying to not thump the floorboards _too_ hard.

The doors swing open easily enough, and Dipper hears voices sing in triumph, stepping forward.

He’s _escaped_. He’s _free_. He dashes forward for the door. Bill’s passed out, his power's limited. That means Dipper’s-

Able to thump his face right into a magical barrier. And fall back on his butt, swearing, clutching his face.

Dipper stares forward, rubbing his bruised nose.

He could open the doors, certainly, once they weren’t locked. But the blue-light barrier still exists.

Now, the double doors of the entrance flap vaguely in the breeze. Dipper watches them from his seat on the carpet.He rubs at his face, and swears again, very quietly, before tugging at the necklace around his throat.

He can’t even get past the threshold to grab the doors, and shut them.

Well, at least if a robber comes in, they might have some bolt cutters. Dipper stands up, wipes his hands on his pants, and glares. Those might work on this godawful chain around his neck, magic or not.

Hell, let someone rob the place, Dipper’s not going to stop them. It might piss Bill off, and anything that does that would be welcome.

He turns deliberately on his heel, and storms back into the hideous, awful house. If he can’t get out - best to explore the rest of this mansion. He’s going to be here for a while, and he’d rather know everything about it than nothing.Plus, without Bill as a tour guide, Dipper can see whatever he wants.

There were rooms Bill avoided, before. He steered Dipper away from them. He’s dead, and he absolutely has secrets. Now...

Dipper pushes the first of the doors Bill pulled him away from open, staring into a…. Room full of dusty furniture.

Dipper’s still going to explore it. If there’s something Bill doesn’t want him to find? He sure as hell wouldn’t have shown it off. All of these ‘extra rooms’ are a good place to start. He’ll start with this one.

Two minutes into ‘exploring’ it, Dipper wipes a hand over his face, and sneezes as he stomps back out.

Okay, not _all_ of the rooms Bill skipped had some kind of insidious motive. There are so many rooms in this mansion that some of them are simply boring.

But isn’t this house supposed to have people taking _care_ of it? They’re not doing their job very well. That was disgusting.

Though to be fair, If there’s a terror aura around the place, Dipper can’t blame the caretakers for not being thorough. Even _Wendy_ didn’t want to stick around, and she only did because -

...He really hopes she’s okay.

The only thing Dipper can be absolutely certain about is that Bill’s hiding something, and he's never going to get a better time to search.

So while he wanders through Cipher’s mansion, he opens every door he can.

Most of them lead to empty, disused places. Rooms that Cipher obviously wouldn’t try to show off to a stranger. Not if he wanted to entertain. What looks like servant’s quarters. The odd bedroom or two. A few meeting areas, and a few lounges. All of them are old, they smell of dust, they’re disused and grey.

Dipper stops storming down the hallway after the twentieth-something room. He leaves his hand on the doorknob of the next And frowns.

If he thought the hallway was dusty, and dilapidated, everything, everywhere, is worse.

Bill really needs to hire better caretakers. Not that he can. But if he could, he should. If all these unused rooms are anything to go by -

Between the Cipher Mansion being huge enough to be a pain to maintain, and how it scares people off. How nobody can live in it. How nobody _has_ lived in it, for so very long - of _course_ nobody’s kept up the entire place. Nobody’s ever had a reason to. This whole building is, very slowly, falling apart.

Dipper sighs, rubs at his forehead. He holds holds this book away from himself, and watches its pages splay open in his hands.

This has everything about spirits, possibly. Most things about spirits, at least. Bill thought it was a good primer, or he wouldn’t have handed it over.

He flips through the pages as he wanders. Reading, and occasionally glancing into the doors he opens. None of them are as interesting as the text -

Which tells Dipper he was right! About a lot of things. About ghosts, and how they work. Why they try to do the things they do. And it’s detailed, too! It matches all the evidence Dipper’s ever gathered, it’s….

Dipper swears, softly. According to this…

Bill Cipher _wasn’t_ lying about most ghosts, and how they function.

How they’re _memories_. Why they act like they do. They’re reflections of a life once lived. They’re… impressions, on some kind of invisible, spiritual fundamental _dimension_. There are a lot of variations, and _most_ of them make sense. Various levels of thinking, of power, of lasting - the text is complex, and informative. It’s a complete, thorough index of possible spirits, and it explains a _lot_.

Some relive their old experiences, replaying, over and over, like a video. Or they’re trapped in the moment before they died, never making new memories. Personality intact, but only able to react, not _remember_ anything, including dying.

Or - and it’s unsettling - they do remember dying, and they never got closure. Had enough of a mind to be upset. So if _they_ died a certain way, so should another person. 

He files that type away as ‘completely horrifying, if true.’

Dipper frowns. If they’re all just bits of memory, or minds. All of these categories and behaviors make sense. They're pictures of people at best, flickers of semi-interactive video in the middle ground, and _completely_ demented at worst.

None of this explains Bill.

'Demented' might be applicable, but not everything else. Bill goes to sleep, and wakes up. He dicks with people, sure, but it hasn’t been _deadly_. And he’s _smart_. He doesn’t forget things. He learns, he _changes_ , he can react to threats, and respond to new circumstances. Like realtors, and caretakers, and trespassers.

And Dipper.

Hell, the situation _Dipper’s_ in is by no means even _close_ to what Bill went through, when he was alive. Who knows what life Bill had - but _malicious poltergeist kidnapping_ probably wasn't in the cards.

While other ghosts seem compelled to reenact their death with their victims, or moan about it for ages - Damn, Bill even _said_ other ghosts complained about how they died, didn’t he. Bill’s not repeating, or stuck in a pattern. He doesn’t seem to forget things, either. 

He's a smug, non-deadly loudmouth, who remembers. Who _reacts_. Who _plans_. He's creative, and sinister, and he's not trying to repeat his. Circumstances.

He doesn’t even want to talk about how he-

Dipper shakes his head to clear it, and glares at the pages in front of him. 

This book is older than Dipper, by a bunch of decades. It’s dense, but somebody has left a lot of notes in the margins. He’s never seen this handwriting before, but it’s so essentially _Bill_ that he can’t imagine it being someone else’s.

Bill has also apparently never gotten the hang of non-capital letters. All of his notes read like shouting. And just like his talkative self - there’s a ton of commentary.

Dipper flips through pages, frowning.

‘AFTER ALL’ - says one passage, as Dipper glares at the handwriting of his captor. It’s as obnoxious as the rest of Bill - ‘IF A PART OF A MIND CAN LINGER ON A DIFFERENT DIMENSIONAL PLANE - WHAT STOPS A _WHOLE_ ONE, AM I RIGHT?’

Bill is such an arrogant ass that Dipper isn’t at all surprised. Like someone could defy what little was known of the completely unknown. Who the hell would have the sheer balls to take a glimpse at the afterlife, and go, ‘I could do _better_ ’? Bill, obviously.

Dipper claps the book closed with one hand, and rubs at his eyes. 

There _has_ to be more. He's going to figure it out, it's just. Not in this book. He'll find another. It's not like there isn't an entire library full of the subject. There has to be something to work with. Bill can't hide his weakness forever.

Only... Maybe he doesn’t have one.

Bill handed this book over. He was so sure it wouldn’t reveal anything important,  that could be used against him. He seems smart enough to not give anything away. Even the rooms he led Dipper away from didn’t _have_ any secrets. They were all so -

“ _The portrait gallery’s boring,_ ” Bill said, easing into another topic.

Dipper blinks a few times.

He raises a lot of dust as he runs along the hallway, shoes thumping on the carpet.

There’s no telling when Bill will wake up, he has to take every second he can get. For this, all Dipper needs is time alone, and his flashlight. Right now he has both, and he remembers _exactly_ where to go.

He stops in front of the door, and stares. The beam of his flashlight illuminating the plaque. Bill dismissed this place so easily that Dipper didn’t even _think_ to look for it until now. The one thing in the tour that wasn’t simply 'boring' - but something Bill didn’t want him to see.

The _portrait gallery._

He grabs the doorknob, and it turns easily. Unlocked.

When the door swings open, Dipper doesn’t actually expect to find a lightswitch. Much less one that’s still working, what with the building being less than maintained as everyone claimed. But the lights go on, and he stares.

Well.

This would explain why Bill didn’t want him to see the place.

Dipper strides in, shaking his head slowly. He lets the hand holding his flashlight drop to his side, and sticks his tongue out.

“You narcissist,” He mutters, and rolls his eyes. He turns away from the huge painting, annoyed.

There’s plenty of portraits. For every painting that might have been inherited, or depicting someone else - and there’s more than a few - there’s another that’s simply of _Bill_. For every child or grandparent or uncle or aunt, there’s a Bill. Each of them in increasingly ridiculous poses. How does someone even afford this many -

Right. Ciphers. Rich. It’s still a monument to an immense ego.

The gallery's mostly clean. One of the better maintained rooms in the mansion. Bill’s one hell of a smooth liar, because Dipper’s only known him for a _day_ , and already he can tell Bill thinks this is one of the best places in this whole building, yet he was able to act like it was nothing.

The only reason he wanted to avoid showing it to Dipper was because he liked that Dipper thought he was alive. A bunch of old paintings? Dipper’s already cursing himself for not noticing earlier. This definitely would have tipped him off.

There is something interesting, though. Along the right wall, the portraits are in sequence. Dipper looks at the faces, reads the names, the dates - _Ancestry_.

_Richard Cipher, 1792-1855. Christopher Cipher, 1817 - 1863. Thomas Cipher, 1842 - 1894._

They go on, portrait after portrait, with no particular rhyme or reason to the year. The heads of the Cipher family, Dipper guesses. The line of portraits reaches the corner, and seemingly ends.

But the back wall has the largest portrait in the room. It almost covers the thing. It’s the first painting _anyone_ would see as they enter.

And of course, it’s Bill.

This time, Dipper doesn’t turn his gaze away from that smug face, just because he doesn’t want to look at it. This time, he glances down, and reads the numbers.

_William Cipher, 1897 -_

There isn’t a second year.

Dipper looks around for a date on all of the dozens of Bill's portraits. He finds nothing, and swears. He looks back at the painting, and tenses.

Whatever happened. Whatever went on in this place?

Bill has been here for a very,  _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on this! This chapter _would_ be longer, but this seemed like a good cutoff point before other developments.  
>  Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's slow, but it keeps on going.

Dipper glares at the flowers around him, sitting slumped on this bench, and quietly wishes they’d die.

Though in a more pleasant way than Bill did. The garden hasn’t done anything wrong.

Outside seemed like such a dream. So impossible. Until someone finally figured it out, it was going to be dusty mansion, for the rest of Dipper’s days. Everything Bill has experienced, for decades.

Exploring this horrible, allergy-inducing prison seemed like a good thing to do, while waiting for rescue. So, Dipper searched. And searched. Endless, countless, dusty boring rooms, pushing their doors open, finding nothing, moving onto the next one, and the next one, until he was so bored he was doing it on automatic.

And when a door swung open into the smell of blooming flowers, and the light of day showed through the opening. Dipper waved his hand through the doorway. Feeling nothing resisting him, seeing the bright sun, the healthy plants - He charged outside, laughing in triumph, he was _outside_ , he'd _escaped_ , it was easy -

Until he noticed the walls around the garden.

His arms dropped, shoulders slumping.

Figures that a family as rich as the Ciphers would have a friggin’ _courtyard_.

It's a type of outside - but not outside the _threshold_.

Though this open space has a lot going for it. Unlike everywhere inside, the garden hasn't degraded. If anything, it’s _thriving_.

There are tall trees, their branches arching over, giving shade. The flowers bloom brightly. The tangle of roses in the middle are downright _gorgeous_ , which is - as far as Dipper’s limited knowledge of plants goes -  weird, when nobody’s been tending to them.

It’s astonishingly pretty. So many flowers, endless lush blooms, full of life. Even unkempt, it’s beautiful in a way cultivated gardens aren’t.

Dipper sighs, and rests a hand in his chin.

“I bet you love this, don’t you,” Dipper digs another saltine out of the box, and chucks it at the statue in front of him. “You have all the stuff you could ever want.” He throws another, more violently this time. “But guess what. It’s nothing you can actually _use_."

Bill’s statue stays frozen in its eternal grin as saltines bounce off his face. Stone or not, he’s well dressed, good posture. Slightly tangled up by growing roses winding up one of his legs. One of his stone hands is extended, like he’s offering a handshake.

Dipper pitches another cracker at it, snorts as it lands in the outstretched palm.

Bill is such a _narcissist_. Not even _portraits_ satisfy him. He can’t leave one single part of his manor undecorated with his presence. But _this_ one Dipper can attract a lot of pigeons towards, and it’s the single bright spot of his day, watching them land and leave their own little ‘decorations’. 

Dipper sighs, fishes another saltine out of the box, and munches on it, sulkily.

There are a lot of ways this mansion is unlivable. It’s gross, dusty. and haunted. That'd be a pretty terrible combination all by itself.

For someone trapped here, though, the biggest one is that it doesn’t have much in the way of food.

Dipper found the kitchens easily enough, and just like everything else it was huge, luxurious, and empty. The cupboards almost as barren as the rest of the Cipher place. Some stale crackers. Some cans of soup just barely in date. This entire building is amazing to look at, and beneath the surface, it’s a wreck.

Good thing Bill’s a deep sleeper, and not up yet.

After finding out the food situation. With Bill still passed out, Dipper could be confident he wouldn’t have an audience, and he  _tried_ to take a shower.

Turns out the water heater’s busted, too.

So that’s great.

He flings a few more crackers at that annoying, stony grin, frustrated. But that’s a waste of food. When he can get any more is questionable.

Dipper digs his phone out. Fruitlessly checking, out of some vague hope. No signal. Like all the other times he’s checked. He shoves it back into his pocket and grumpily shoves down another saltine.

Bill’s been dead, probably, for about a century, give or take a few years. It’s only an estimate. And Bill might not want Dipper dead… But how to _stay_ alive might have slipped his memory. It’s already been made _very_ clear that undeath has driven him _insane_.

“You know, I bet you deserve this, Bill _Asshole_ ,” Dipper says to the statue, standing up. “You don’t need your ‘fear aura’,” He storms up to it, pointing at its face. “You’re enough of a jerk that people would avoid you like the plague if you _were_ alive.” Dipper punches the statue in the chest, frustrated  -  then swears, grabbing his hand. All he managed with that was hurting his knuckles.

Defeating Bill won't be easy. Dipper's sore wrist, and scraped knuckles now, attest to that.

Punching the ghost is possible, but all that does is piss Bill off. Plus it’s not like he can be killed again.

And when Wendy comes back - because it’s not an ‘if’, it’s a ‘ _when_ ’, Dipper’s certain- he doesn’t know what she could do to get him out of this situation. It can’t be solved by beating someone up. It’s _magic_ of all things, he doesn’t know how it works in the slightest.

Dipper doesn’t know freaking anything. He's totally screwed.

Though…

In all his time as a spirit, Bill hasn’t killed anyone. As far as Dipper’s aware, and he did a _lot_ of research before he ever set foot in the Cipher mansion.

Bill’s injured people. Driven them crazy, ruined their lives - tormented them, _loved_ tormenting them, thinks it’s _funny_ to torment, Dipper saw that with Wendy - but Bill doesn’t take the most permanent, final step.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want ‘company’ accidentally joining his home. Maybe because he thinks scaring people is more entertaining than murder. Bill's a jerk and liar, but he's not an outright liar. There's some truth to what he says. What he said.

‘ _ **I’d** punch death in the face if I had the chance._ ’

Dipper contemplates the crackers in his hand.

He’s pretty certain why Bill is the way he is. He’s a total dick. He pulls dick moves and loves deception. He’s not benevolent, at all.

But he’s not into death, and most of that is out of sheer _spite_.

So maybe, just _maybe_. When Dipper starts to starve, he _might_ be able to argue his way out of here. Bill doesn’t want Dipper dead. He hates even the idea of death. Though going through that process is going to take time.  And suck. A lot.

“You look down, kid!” A hand drops onto DIpper’s head, ruffling his hair. “What’s the issue?”

Dipper jolts up from his seat. He has to slap away the hand on his head, and turn to glare.

The ghostly asshole’s awake again, grinning in his asshole ghostly way.

Bill floats lazily in the air behind the bench, and wiggles his fingers at Dipper. He even winks. Dipper takes a deep breath, straightens his back. He clenches his fists, arms tight by his sides.  

“Bill.” He says, firm. Making his case is important. “I can’t live here.”

“Really? Seems like you’re doing a great job of living here!” Bill replies, lifting a hand to examine his nails. Even though ghost nails don’t grow, or change. The asshole, he’s posturing. “And I figure you’re not gonna quit _that_ career anytime soon.”

“What? I-” Dipper splutters, incredulous. “This, this- everything.” He waves a hand behind himself. “Your whole stupid house is, like, literally unlivable. If I had asthma I’d have died just walking down the freaking hallway.”

“Takes the living to do a good job on keeping things livable,” Bill agrees with a shrug. He floats in front of Dipper’s face, leaning back, arms crossed behind his head. “Haven’t had a lot of ‘em stick around in the last…” He frowns, rolling a hand around, thinking. “It’s been like two or three a year for the last twenty, if I count ‘em right.”

“That-” Dipper pauses, hand already half-raised in accusation. He was going to tell Bill how many caretakers he’d run through, how badly things are run. Now he lets his hand drop, and frowns. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

“It’s a real pain,” Bill says, almost annoyed. And he shakes his head, seemingly disappointed. “Hard to find good help these days.”

Frustration rises in Dipper’s chest. He stands up. “Maybe if you didn’t _terrify_ everyone who ever comes near the place-”

“Hey!” Bill interrupts, sitting up where he’s floating. He raises his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Sure, sure, I’ll cop to making _some_  fear. But a lot of it’s from just being around the dead. Your run-of-the-mill alive guy gets the shivers in the most mundane, _unhaunted_ murder scene.” Bill grins, and shrugs, looking amused. “Can’t help it if _I_ cause a lot more existential dread.”

“Your existence _is_ pretty dreadful,” Dipper agrees. Bill flips him off, still hovering in the air.

Bill. The ghost. With his his horrible, smug expression, his lifted arms. His memory.

His impeccable, untouched, unharmed suit and face.

Dipper takes a deep breath, sterns himself. He looks up, at that face, judges the age - 

“And who murdered _you_ , Bill? It was about a century ago, right?” He sees Bill shift up in surprise. Dipper feels slightly proud. "I did some looking around. I know how old you are, so." He shrugs. "Who did it?"

Dipper _saw_ the portrait gallery. The exact date Bill died is a mystery - but whoever did the deed _has_ to be long dead themselves. So there’s no reason to hide it. Outliving - for a given definition of ‘living’ - his killer must give Bill _some_ satisfaction. He seems the type to like that kind of thing.

Bill hums softly, his eyes narrow. Then he snaps his fingers, and grins.

“You got a point about the caretakers, Pines,” Bill says. He’s rubbing at his chin, looking thoughtful. “When it comes to maintenance, I’ve gotta find someone who’ll stick with the job. And stick around!” His grin is very sharp, and pleased. “But don’t worry about it. I’m way ahead of you there.”

“Wait, wait. That’s not what I asked.” Dipper gets up. There’s a key to this mystery, and Bill… is probably not the best way to unlock it but who _else_ is he supposed to ask? “Who killed you? I mean- Who else are you going to talk to about this?”

“Yep! I think this is gonna be pretty great,” Bill says happily, and claps his hands together, as he lies back on nothing. “You’ll probably even like it, once you’re used to things.”

Dipper wants to pull at his hair out of frustration. He swears under his breath.

It’s worse than any kind of denial, or lie. Questions about Bill’s death are being completely and intentionally _ignored_.

Dipper gives this floating asshole a sharp, violent shove. “You suck.”

Bill drifts away like he was lying on a frictionless surface. He shrugs it off with a snort, raises a finger. “Oh no, no, no,  you turned _that_ down, kid. Your loss. ” One of his eyebrows goes up. "If y-"

Dipper immediately interrupts. “There's no _food_ , it’s _filthy_ here. I don’t have anything but the clothes on my back, and you even stole those once. Your entire stupid house is awful,” Dipper insists. “Bill Cipher?“ He folds his arms, and glares. “You’re a _really shitty host._ ”

Bill twitches.

He turns away, still airborne. His foot taps silently against nothing, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s tense, and annoyed, and frankly, he can go fuck himself.

Dipper’s right, and Bill knows it.

His house is terrible. In the present. But once upon a time, Bill was a living person.  Who entertained dozens, who cajoled, and convinced. Someone who was charismatic. No other reason he would have had all of those party spaces. These days this house doesn’t have fancy snacks, or adoring servants. None of the amenities. Seeing Bill like this is the right time to mention it.

“And forget about there being anything fun in the shower.”

“What?” Bill’s annoyed, but it caught his attention.

Dipper shrugs. “There’s no hot water, either.”

Seeing Bill tense up, bury a hand his unruffled hair. Knowing that _Bill_ knows it’s not just that he can’t provide luxuries - and Bill loves luxury - but that he fails even the basic level of ‘comfortable’.

Dipper hears a soft, frustrated curse, sees Bill’s shoulders tense.  Lights inside the house flicker. One bursts, and Dipper watches Bill stand straight, try and straighten out an already impeccable suit, running his hands over his jacket, and through his hair.

And for the first time since the poltergeist kidnapped him, Dipper smiles.

Bill might be an insane, intangible spirit, but _that_ hit him in right the pride, dead center.

Unfortunately, Bill recovers very, very quickly. Dipper hardly gets a moment to enjoy things before Bill turns back towards him with a grin.

Pride took a hit,  knocked  him off balance, but Bill has rallied, bouncing back out of sheer ego.

“Yeah, alright. Things suck! Right now. But hang in there until tomorrow,” Bill says, and leans back again with the same, awful, arrogant smirk that matches the one on his statue. “Then everything’ll work out.”

“What happens tomorrow?” Dipper asks. He shakes the half-empty box of crackers, frowning at it. “Do I die of food poisoning?”

“You just wait and see.” Bill winks. He settles to the ground, and offers his arm. “How ‘bout a stroll through the gardens?”

Dipper keeps glaring into the box of crackers. They _did_ taste kinda weird.  “If I die of food poisoning, I’m going to ghost-puke on everything you own.”

Bill makes a face at that. “I plan on keeping you up and kicking, not kicking the bucket, kid.” He hauls Dipper’s free hand up to make it hold his arm, and strides forward with confident, unearthly grace. “C’mon, enjoy yourself! Did you know-”

Dipper’s dragged along behind this ghost, again, but he only half- stumbles this time before he follows, trailing behind his captor. Completely tuning Bill out as he starts yet another ramble.

One full day of being with this ghost, until...  _something_ happens. What it is, Dipper doesn’t know.

Wendy hasn't made it back yet, but she’ll definitely be back by then. He asked for help, she can’t do it alone, and getting that help might take a bit.

Convincing people that Dipper wasn’t just hanging around a haunted mansion and got wrapped up in studying it, which. Has maybe happened once. Or twice.  A few times. He was being thorough, it’s perfectly reasonable. Unfortunately, that makes way more sense than ‘ghost kidnapped’.

Wendy will need some time, and with Dipper not answering his phone…He pulls it out again, and nods to himself.

Zero signal, zero answer from him. That’s weird enough for everyone to be concerned.

A day should be enough proof. Then he’s going to get _out_ of here.

“Hello, what’s this?”

Dipper jerks away just quick enough to keep Bill from snagging his phone out of his hand. “Nothing!”

“Uh huh. Nothing.” Bill says dryly. They’ve stopped in front of a door leading back indoors. One of Bill’s eyebrows is raised. “C’mon, I’ve seen you alive guys playing with these things before.” He gives what he probably thinks is a charming grin, and it’s one Dipper probably would have fallen for, before everything else happened. “Gimme a little look-see.”

“ _No_ ,” Dipper insists, pulling away and clutching his phone to his chest. “You already break _lightbulbs_ , I’m not letting you break-”

He stops. Glances down at the phone in his hands.

Bill snorts. “That ain’t a lightbulb, kid. Ain’t about to break it either, so-”

“It’s electronic.” Dipper mutters, staring at the signal bar.

“Yeah, but again, not gonna bust it-”  
  
Dipper jerks his head towards Bill, suddenly alert “Can you do the opposite?”

“Can I-” Bill smiles, confident - then stops, as whatever planned response he had fails in face of Dipper’s - admittedly weird - question. He pauses, slightly confused. “Okay, kid, ya lost me. ”

“The, the thing,’ Dipper insists, waving in a  way that he hopes conveys ‘bursts lightbulbs’ or maybe ‘fucks with physics’, because Bill’s got a weird way of interacting with not only electricity, but heat as well. “Okay, you can break stuff, if you, uh, push on it. But can you do the reverse? Stop messing with lightbulbs or - electricity stuff?” The way Dipper’s flailing looks more confusing than not, most likely, he finally finds the right word. “Can you nullify it?”

Bill lets Dipper’s hand go, folds his arms, starts to say something.

And stops. His mouth snaps shut. Bill frowns. He looks surprisingly, thoughtful, even curious.

Then Bill laughs, sharp and bright and sudden. “Ha!” Weirdly, he’s starting to grin. “That’s a new one.”

Dipper fumbles, takes a couple steps away since he no longer has to hold onto a ghost arm. “Are you going to-”

Bill waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec. Weird request, but I think I know what you’re getting at. I’ll give it a shot, Pines.” He’s still grinning. “This is a first for a dead guy.” One eye opens, sharp and bright, then shuts again. “But hey! I told ya I wanted a change of pace!” Bill is outright beaming now, eyes closed, arms spread. “Let’s make something _new_ happen.”

Settling down into some kind of crosslegged concentration, Bill looks oddly. Relaxed, for a spirit. Or at least for Bill himself. Maybe he looks slightly more normal - or he would, if he wasn’t sitting in midair, and in an absurdly formal suit. It’s a faintly ridiculous picture, where did Bill even learn to meditate. Is that even what he’s doing.

Dipper’s tempted to watch Bill do. Whatever it is, it's less important than seeing if it has any results. He checks his phone.

His heart surges, he’s trembling, he’s holding onto his phone so hard it almost hurts his fingers.

“What’s up?” Bill’s peeking one eye him, concentrating less.

Two bars drop - but the signal’s still _there_.

“Wait!” Dipper holds out a hand. “Wait. Keep… _not_ doing the thing, but promise me something.”

Bill cocks his head to one side. His eyes narrow. “Promise what?”

Dipper winces.

He could call Mabel, she’d believe him. Maybe. Or Wendy, who absolutely would. Or Stan, who Dipper could call on to help for any tough situation -  but also, Stan would try to rob the place, and there’s no _way_ that’d end well. If Dipper’s other uncle was anywhere in cell phone range, Ford would be an option, but...

Unfortunately, the only reason Dipper _can_ call any of them isn’t going to like those conversations. Even if Bill didn’t cut off reception, and Dipper’s family did come to the rescue, Bill’s too dangerous, and too crazy. He can’t overhear, it’d go badly.

And aside from Wendy, who already knows…Calling to say ‘hey, I’ve been kidnapped by an insane ghost’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m totally sane.’ 

Dipper groans, he rubs at his eyes. Then he stands straight.

Despite everything, there’s one, fantastic thing Dipper _can_ do for himself, and there’s no way Bill can object.

Bill’s frowning. Dipper holds up a finger, making Bill wait while he dials a well-known number. It’s not _help_. But it’s helpful.

Dipper listens to the phone ring once, meets Bills interested look, and glares.

“Just. Promise me you won’t scare away the delivery guy.” Another ring. Bill raises an eyebrow and Dipper shrugs. “I’m getting a pizza.”

There’s soft static on the line when Bill starts laughing, head thrown back -  but the call goes through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I'm past most of the annoying setup - let's get into the meat of things, shall we


	10. Chapter 10

Bill lets out a long, moaning sound. His expression is one full of sheer, undisguised desire.

Dipper swallows, feeling nervous. He ducks his head away. “Don't stare.”

“What does it taste like?” Bill asks. Eyes half-lidded, filled with lazy hunger.

“It’s… good? Not the best. But I’ve had worse.”  
  
Bill smiles, slow. He settles his chin on his clasped hands. “Enjoy it, kid. Some people can’t.”

Dipper frowns, and takes another bite. He plucks a few strings of melted cheese away from his mouth. Then cringes back, as Bill lets out a long, wanting groan.

Having lunch should never be this weird.

The kitchen seemed the best place to eat. It had tables, chairs, it wasn’t incredibly dusty. Dipper took his place at the table, and Bill sat across from him in a spiritual parody of company, resting an elbow on the table he doesn’t need to touch. The table he can’t _even_ touch, unless he’s concentrating on it.

Dipper gives Bill another glare. Bill sighs again, as he watches Dipper do the simplest, most basic thing of living, which is eating.

But it’s a pretty good pizza, so at least there’s that.

Getting it was an ordeal all by itself. He doesn't need Bill here to make enjoying the thing _another_ trial.

Dipper takes another, vengeful bite, and cringes for a second time as Bill leans in, watching way too close. He sets the half-eaten slice down back in the box.

“Of all the things you’ve done, and I’m including the blood on the walls, this is the creepiest. Stop staring.”

Bill looks off into the distance, somewhere over Dipper’s shoulder.

“Croque Monsieur,” Bill says, voice vacant. He trails a finger idly over the tabletop. “Caviar. Beef Wellington. Lobster Thermidor, hell,” He snorts. “Even eggs and bacon.” He heaves out a breath. The air between them stays as still as death. Then he turns to Dipper, and smiles. “What’s your favorite, kid?”

Dipper hesitates. Weird question. “Favorite what?”

“Food, idiot.” Bill says it with derision, but no real anger. “It’s not an option in my situation, and man, it's been a while. So! How’s the grub?” 

“Oh,” Dipper says. Looks into the pizza box, then up at Bill. “Uh.”

“Tell me all about it,” Bill says, with a tone of voice that should really be reserved for the bedroom.

Dipper ignores that, picks up the halfeaten slice of pizza, and deliberately turns away as he finishes it off.  
  
“Oh come on!” Bill says from somewhere behind him. Another slice dangles in Dipper’s view, held by an intangible hand, waving back and forth. “Taste is a sense I could use a reminder of. What's a description gonna cost me?”

“I am not-” Dipper slaps Bill’s hand. “Going to do _anything_ you like.” 

Slapping the hand means the slice falls out of Bill’s grip. An unfortunate amount of hot cheese slides down Dipper’s shirt, sauce splatters.

Dipper splutters, swears - then clenches his fists.

“And now my clothes are messed up. Thanks for that.” Dipper wipes messy hands on what few clean spots remain. “I think I preferred it when you stole them.”

“Hey! You’re the one who left them _behind_.” Bill stalks in front of him, tapping a foot on the ground. “That was one hundred percent your fuckup, kid, not me messing with you.”

“You were a ghost! I mean.” Dipper flails vaguely, trying to figure out what to say. “You _are_ a ghost! Why wouldn’t I run?”

“Hey! Who runs from _that_ kinda offer? That’s the _opposite_ of violence!” Bill holds up his hands, frown creasing his impeccable face. “I offered you something pretty freaking great!”

“You’re _dead_.”

“Why,” Bill says slowly, rubbing a palm against one eye. His teeth are gritted together. “Is that such a huge friggin’ problem for you?”

“Well.” This time it’s Dipper’s turn to shrug. “You _kidnapped_ me.”

“ _Only_ because you decided to run off.” Bill's face is stern. Then a slow smirk crosses his face. “So much for liking ghosts, kid. You’re a coward.”

Dipper tenses. “I”m not a-”

“Cowards don’t _run_.” Bill leans in. “You took off the second you saw a spirit, and I sure as hell wasn’t being _threatening_.”

“I-” Dipper hesitates, then gives Bill a shove. Even if it doesn’t move him. “You should have said something.”

And maybe that wouldn’t have made a difference, when it came to sending Dipper running. A genuine ghost is way, way different than what he imagined. He can’t be sure how he would have reacted, if he’d been told about it.

But if Bill _had_ said something, then at least then he would have been _honest_ , and it’s fucked up that he didn’t.

“Kid. Dipper. _Pines_.” Bill chucks Dipper lightly under the chin, getting his attention again. “You’re something special, ya know? You’re one of a kind.”

“I really doubt it.” Dipper’s face feels warm. He knows better than to fall for any charm. Bill pulled it before, he's trying to pull it now, and it’s all a lie, every bit of it.

Bill grips Dipper’s shoulders, pulling him close. It’s the first time Bill’s expression has looked literally deadpan.

Dipper gets a hold on Bill’s wrists, tensing up. If it comes to a fight, that’d go badly, for certain. The one comfort is that he can fight _back_. Bill doesn’t like getting socked in the face, and he doesn't want Dipper dead. 

“There’s nobody else like you, Dipper Pines." For the briefest moment, the corner of Bill’s mouth twitches up. “You’re _weird_.”

Dipper tightens his grip on Bill’s wrists, leaning away.

“Sure, you’ve done your little search. You maybe know how long I’ve been, well…” Bill smiles again, and there isn’t the slightest hint of humor in it. “Incorporeal.”

It has been a while. A long while. More than a long while. It’s been-

“There’s no way,” BIll continues, still smiling, speaking through gritted teeth. “After _that long_." His fingers tighten. “I was gonna let _this_ run away.”

Dipper tugs at Bill’s wrists, wincing. That grip is starting to _hurt_ now. “Bill, wait-”

Bill shoves Dipper hard enough to make his back hit the table, and turns away. He brushes his hands off on his suit. Runs his hand through his impeccable hair, as if to straighten it.

Dipper hunches over, rubs at his shoulders. He aches where his back hit the table. Not enough that it feels like it’s going to bruise, but- “You’re a jerk.”

“Suck it up, kid, cause I ain’t going nowhere.” Bill settles back on thin air, crossing his arms behind his head. “And neither are you.”

“Fine.” Dipper settles back into his seat. “I guess I’m not.”

“Yeah, you aren’t.”

“Then I’m gonna sit here in awful clothes.” Dipper finishes. “For the rest of eternity. And so are you." He glares at Bill. "Your suit’s terrible.”

Bill gives him a look that would make a lesser man shrink back. Dipper sits up straighter, and folds his arms.

It’s a standoff. Ghost against living man, and Dipper won't give in easily. Bill _needs_ him, for... something. It wasn't clear, but he's not in danger here.

Surprisingly, Bill breaks it with in a minute.

“Hey, we can’t have that, can we?” Bill claps his hands together. He starts to seem - delighted?

“What?”

“Just one sec,” Bill says, points his fingers at Dipper, and winks. “We’ll sort out the clothing bit in no time.”

He stands - fingers still pointing at Dipper - drifts backwards through the wall, and disappears.

Dipper surges up, starts to say something.

Bill simply isn’t in the room anymore.

“Fine!” Dipper kicks the stupid chair Bill was ‘sitting’ in, in lieu of kicking that asshole. “Just take off.” He flips off the air, though the ghost isn’t even around to see it it. “That’s not weird at all.”

There has to be _something_ to do about this jerk.

Dipper smacks the pizza box shut, hard. It crumples the cardboard. He stands there for a minute, breathing slow, and eventually shoves the stupid thing into the still-functioning fridge, sulking.

But. Since Bill’s gone, temporarily.

Chances to be alone like this are going to be rare, and Dipper knows what to do with this one.

He hurries through the halls, makes some distance between them. It’s a lot more pleasant now that his stomach isn’t grumbling. 

There are obscure rooms in this place. Ones neither Bill, nor any of his caretakers, ever bothered dealing  with. Dipper’d noticed that much.

He heads into _this_ room, shuts the door, and only turns one desk light on.  He pulls the book out from under the chair. Stashed where Bill couldn’t find it, or at least where Bill wasn’t going to _look_ for it. Flopping down in this less-than comfortable chair, in this guestroom, Dipper starts flipping through the pages again.

If Bill catches that Dipper’s learned way more than he should, he’ll probably ghost-lock the library, or something. Keeping some knowledge safe, and away from Bill, is important.

A few things caught Dipper’s interest earlier, but he was too distracted, and too tired, to investigate them fully. Now’s the time to give them another look.

There’s so _much._  

More than Dipper has time to fully absorb, in these stolen moments. Things about spirits, about life, about their realms, how they merge and intersect and the weird phenomena that result. He flips through the pages rapidly, counting the time he has down in his head. There are things in here about interacting with the spiritual realm.

That should include messing with _spirits_.  
  
Dipper looks around himself. It’s quiet. Dark. Silent, so. Bill’s not around. He’s distracted. Good. He traces his thumb over the incantation.

Bill’s made several notes here. Some words are crossed out, replaced with others. There’s a lot of notes, it mostly covers the text. Bill's commentary makes no sense, but that’s pretty standard for him. He never makes _any_ sense.

Still, it’s meticulously detailed. How to stand, what to say. How it _works_  -

And it _might_ be a _spell_.  

Under any other circumstance. Dipper would have scoffed, written all of this off as nonsense. Spells aren’t _possible,_  they’re superstitious nonsense, and anyone who claims to do them is probably trying to sell you something.

Except he’d _also_ thought that about _ghosts,_ and magic. 

Now he’s met one ghost. And he’s run headfirst into a bright blue barrier that shouldn’t be able to _exist_. Dipper had made plans for _if_ that stuff existed. Just as thought experiments. Besides, it's always important to be prepared.

Insane poltergeist kidnapping was never in any of those plans. Now he’s kind of kicking himself for not coming up with something.

Being a skeptic was cool, right up until he was proven horribly wrong.

It only takes a minute to memorize the words, the moves. Dipper mouths them to himself. Makes some of the gestures. Bill’s notes provide diagrams that are, surprisingly, helpful.

He frowns anyway.  While this _seems_ perfect.

That probably means there’s a catch.

“Hey there, Pines, you ran off again, didn’t ya?” Bill’s loud voice echoes throughout the building, muffled through the walls. “But you can't run too far now!”

Dipper straightens up, slams the book shut, stuffs the thing into the cushions of the chair he was sitting in.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Bill calls. His voice is entirely amused. “Hide and seek’s fun, kid, don’t think I’m mad about it. _You’re_ the one missing out.” His tone turns coy. “I’ve got something nice for you.”

Dipper shuts his eyes, and straightens his shoulders. He gets up. And heads to the library.

That’s Bill’s favorite place.  The most precious part of his entire mansion. If he finds Dipper there, that’ll keep his hiding place safe. Bill won’t investigate further if he finds Dipper where he expects him - and Dipper's pretty sure he can get there before the spirit finds out he wasn't there the whole time.

He clenches his fists as he heads through the halls. He’s getting better at this. Learning.

Bill’s not going to be able to call him just a ‘pretty face’ again, with his charming lies. Now once he realizes Dipper can _do_ things. And  none of them are gonna be what Bill wants him to.

The library door opens easily. The library remains awesome. One of the best maintained, cleanest places in this building.

Dipper lets himself drop into one of the overstuffed armchairs, grumpy. Almost shuts his eyes, because, damn it, this furniture is pretty great, so soft. He could sit here forever.

Plus, it was in the spell’s recommendations. ‘Sit in comfy chair’, though he’s not really intending on using  _that_ thing yet.

It takes almost no time at all.

“Hello there,” Bill says, somewhere close behind him. “Still got pretty good taste, I see. This _is_ the best place to hang out.”

“Fuck off, Bill.” Dipper says. He rubs at his eyes. In only the couple of minutes it took Bill, he’d half drifted off. He's downright exhausted from the stress of this godawful spirit.

“That’s not any way to talk to your host,” Bill tuts. Dipper hears a soft sound nearby. Quiet, something rustling. “Take a look at this.”

A very soft weight drapes over Dipper’s face. He peeks an eye open. He can't see anything through this.

“Yeah, no.” Dipper gives the cloth a shove. 

The cloth - the _shirt_ \-  flutters away when pushed. Then glides back back towards him as he breathes in, startled. It smacks him in the face again. When Dipper huffs out a breath, it settles in a pile in his lap.

Bill’s leaned over his shoulder. The spirit’s presence is just behind and beside him. Dipper can see him out of the corner of his eye, hovering.

“Here ya go, kid,” Bill says, voice dripping with generosity. “A new getup! You’ll be the second-best dressed guy in this whole place.”

Dipper picks it up between two fingers, looking at it. As it waves in his grasp - it sticks to the remaining sauce on himself. Dipper cringes, pulls it back sharply - but the damage is done.

He chucks the thing away, feeling, weirdly, embarrassed. That stain’s not going anywhere.

“Eh, no worries, kid,” Bill says lightly. Another shirt floats down, into Dipper’s un-sauced lap. “Try _this_ one on for size!”

Dipper feels it settle on his thighs, and sits up straighter. He’s already ruined one, he doesn’t want to wreck another.

“These aren’t _quite_ the right fit, but I figure it’s close enough.” BIll taps his hands on Dipper’s shoulders, then slides them annoying down his upper arms. “Or do you wanna stick with what you got? Maybe tomato stains are all the rage these days!”

Dipper heaves himself up from his seat. The shirt in his lap drifts to the floor. He grabs onto the bottom of his own.  

And turns to glare at Bill. “Look away.”

“Why?” Bill asks, aiming for innocence and missing by several dozen miles. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Dipper points away. “I don't care. Don’t. Look.” If this... cohabitation is going to be long term, Dipper needs set boundaries, and fast. "Are you a gentleman or not?"

“Fine, fine! If you insist,” Bill says, thowing up his arms. He turns away. “Here’s all your options, then, if you don’t want a fashion consultant.”

At least a dozen shirts, some pants, some things Dipper can't even place, all drop onto him. They slide off his hair, tumble off his shoulders. All the clothing Bill had been lifting invisibly above Dipper, hovering over his head.

Dipper stands still through the sartorial rainfall, staring forward.

Bill’s not being a voyeur, and that’s a step forward. Or at least not a step back.

Once it ends, Dipper strips off his shirt. Casts it aside, hears it land somewhere beside him. Glances behind himself, to check.

Bill seems annoyed, but he hasn’t turned around. Humming something tunelessly to himself.

Good. That gives Dipper time to think.

Picking up one of Bill’s shirts - Dipper holds it up by the shoulders. Having a shirt on is way, way better than not, and he hasn’t found the laundry room yet. If there even is one. If his own stuff gets too filthy, he guesses he can wear… Dipper sticks out his tongue in disgust.

Bill’s old clothing. Who knows how ancient this stuff is.

Shrugging it on, he buttons it up, right to the collar. Slightly too big for him. Bill’s a few inches taller, even when he isn’t floating. The sleeves drop down to Dipper’s knuckles if he lets his arms drop.

“Nice choice!” Bill says.

Dipper twitches.

So much for not looking. Apparently boundaries aren’t in place when Dipper’s _dressed_.

Bill floats in front of him, looking him over. One hand clasped against his mouth, eyes narrowed.

“Well?” Dipper spreads his arms wide. The sleeves slip away from his wrists, down his arms. “Here I am, in your clothes. Congratulations. You got what you wanted.” He lets his arms fall to his sides.

“Nah, this doesn’t do it.” Bill’s frowning, considering - then he grins again. Holds another shirt up against Dipper, Bill humming as he makes some judgement. “You ain’t got my kinda style, but eh. We can make it work.” He gives Dipper a wink. “Bet we could get these tailored to you, though. Hey, if you had the right outfit, you might even have some _class_ one day! Hey, how about this?"

Another shirt starts floating upward - Dipper grabs it, throws it straight at Bill’s face. It passes through him like nothing.

Bill blinks a few times. Raises an eyebrow.

“Look, I’m not your _model_ ,” Dipper insists. He grabs another piece of clothing lying on the ground - and throws it through Bill, even as the spirit rolls his eyes at him. “I’m not a freakin' doll.”

Bill snorts softly, looking down at himself as the clothing Dipper flings passes through him. “Jeez, you’re really pissy, aren’tcha?”

“It’s your clothing, asshole.” Dipper protests. He holds his hands beside himself, clenched. “I don’t need to wear it. I’m _okay_ with being gross. I will _absolutely_ be gross before letting you play _dressup_ with me.”

“Hey, hey, no obligation! But eh, I figure someone should make some wear and tear on this junk,” Bill says, shrugging. Dipper can’t read the expression on his face. It’s neutral. “Lotta things in my place don’t get much use anymore.”

Dipper snags another garment near his feet, straightening up. “You can touch things, you're  the guy likes fashion. Why don’t _you_ wear this stuff?”

Bill rolls his eyes as it gets flung through him, tutting softly. He examines his nails. “That’s never gonna work, but keep trying if it makes ya feel better.”

Dipper stares at that, breath coming fast.

This _jerk_. How does he think he can try and make Dipper eat _food_ for him, and try and touch him all the time, and drop all this stupid clothing around, trying to make him wear this cr-

Dipper pauses. He rubs his thumb and finger against the fabric. It’s absurdly soft. He holds it up to get a better look.

The stitches in the hems are tight and precise. It’s delicate, perfectly tailored, made of silk, and well preserved. It’s old, but but perfectly untouched. It’s actually kind of. Great?

Except it’s a dead man’s property, so it can’t be useful to anyone.

Dipper lets his arm drop. He stares.

“Hey, how ‘bout this one?,” Bill surges up, amused. Apparently encouraged by Dipper relenting, hIs grin has returned, full-force. He waves another bit of clothing at Dipper’s face. “Try this on, Pines, it might bring out your eyes.”

“You’re a ghost.” Dipper says. His mouth feels dry. “And that means. Nothing ever changes.” He meets Bill’s undead, cheerful gaze.

“Yeah, like I mentioned.”

Bill’s cryptic. Maybe he thought he was being clever. But now Dipper _gets_ it, and it’s stupid, and it -

“You can’t even _take your clothes off_?” Dipper blurts.

Bill drops the cloth, rolling his eyes. His mouth twists in an unpleasant way, but he doesn't say anything.

Dipper clears his throat in the pause.

“Well?”

There’s a long disgusted sigh. Then Bill frowns, rubs at his face.

“Look, humor me, here, kid. You’re stuck in the building as much as I am.” The smile tries to creep back onto his face, and the attempt is less than successful. “Try on a few things.”

Bill’s annoyed. He sounds exhausted. He’s glaring at Dipper, too, but he’s not _protesting_.

Which means Dipper is _right_.

“Oh my god.” Dipper glances over Bill. HIs immaculate suit, his stylish, perfect, impeccable -

 _Unchangable_ attire.

“That.” Dipper isn’t sure where to start. He stares over this spirit. What is there even to say. He struggles for words, and ends up with, ”That sucks.”

Bizarrely, he even means it.

There’s a lot of sucky things about being a ghost. Dead isn’t the ideal state to be in, it comes with disadvantages. All spirits lament their death, or the cause of it. They linger around because they had unfinished business, or because something unjust happened to them. If ghosts _did_ exist, Dipper thought they'd be way more consumed by their past than their present.

Then Bill happened.

Who can move everything around in an entire building, and make stuff explode, who can swing a battleaxe at your friend, and then freaking _kidnap a living person._

Who’s… unique.

Bill is absolutely, completely, one hundred percent jerk-ass dickwad. That’s been proven. It’s as much of a fact as the sky being blue and the grass being green. The second, _unfortunate_ truth, is that unique or not.

Being dead still _really_ fucking sucks.

No touch. No company. No trying on your old fancy outfits, even if you _do_ learn to move or manipulate anything.

It explains a lot.

Why Bill stared at Dipper while he ate. Why he’s trying to make Dipper wear his outfits, why he entertained, and showed off. How he keeps trying to be a generous host. Upset at not being one, to the point of frustration. Why, when he might not be able to strip, or even _experience_ one, he could try to give _Dipper_ a -

Dipper clears his throat, looks away.

Bill wants, desperately, to be alive. To feel all the things he can’t anymore.

The closest he _can_ come toliving anymore....

Is if he does it vicariously.

“Bill?” Dipper asks. He looks up at this spirit. His hands clench around the new shirt.

“What?” Bill asks. He’s still grinning. Etherial, and cheerful.  “We got a lot more than shirts for you to try on, lemme tell you-”

“Bill,” Dipper declares, before he can get distracted. He shut his eyes and holds a hand out. “You need to move on.”

“Really?” Bill asks. The word curls up at the end, curious. “To what, exactly?”

Dipper takes a deep, steadying breath, and glares right at this spirit’s handsome, unholy face.

“This. Isn’t the right place for you. You have to,” He waves around, it probably looks awkward. “Pass on to the next realm. And you _did_ leave me that book.”

“Oh,” Bill says. This time his voice is full of interest. He looks at Dipper intently, cocks his head. “Do tell.”

Dipper had doubts about this.

Bill’s, yeah, a total asshole, and he’s a dick, and Dipper would definitely punch him in the face again -

Clinging to reality, when you know you can never be part of it again. When you long for an impossible experience, something you can never have for yourself. That's no way to live, or even un-live. Other ghosts aren't present in the moment, they don't even remember being dead, much less hate it, immensely.

This _seemed_ violent.

Now, Dipper knows it’s mercy.

Dipper straightens his back. “I know I can cast a spirit out.”

“What?” Bill looks surprised, which is - Yes. Dipper was right, he _knew_ that he was.

Bill shouldn’t have written it down. It left him vulnerable, and Dipper figured it out.

Dipper closes his eyes, holds his hand out, and starts the chant. He makes the gestures.

“Holy- you’re doing _this_?” Bill says. He sounds alarmed.

Dipper doubles down, concentrates on speaking the words, making the gestures, ignoring this spirit. Bill can’t stop him. He won’t let him.

“Really wouldn’t finish that if I were you.” Bill tries to interrupt. After a beat, he shrugs, lifting his hands. “But hey, who am I to stop ya?”

So what if Bill’s bothered. That’s a _good_ thing. Sending Bill into the afterlife is better that the no-life he’s been living, it mIght not be pleasant, but it’s better than _this_. This is for the best. Bill will be out of this house, into… some afterlife, and then Dipper can get out of the house. They’ll _both_ be free.

Maybe Bill doesn’t _want_ to move on, but _someone_ has to give him the push.

Dipper finishes the last word, the last gesture, throwing his arm forward in the last movement -

There’s a solid thump.

And silence.

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

Whatever sound dispelling a spirit makes, Dipper was expecting something more ethereal. A ‘whoosh’, or a whistle. A soft voice, indistinct. Maybe a distant chorus, singing, or bright light shining from above. Or, knowing Bill, a red light from below.

Dipper peeks an eye open. It sort of _felt_ like it worked…

Only verything’s the same. Dusty library, ancient furniture.

Plus, Bill’s still there in front of him. Hands on his hips, grinning. He’s clearly trying not to laugh. Clearing his ghostly throat, holding a fist against his mouth.

“Okay. It didn’t work.” Dipper admits. He lets his arm drop. So much for that stupid book _actually_ having spells in it. “It was worth a shot.”

This spirit can’t stop him for long. He’s learning, fast. Dipper’s not going to be held back by one stupid mistake. He can regroup, figure out something new.

“Didn't work, huh. You _sure_ about that, kid?” Bill says, holding a hand over his face to stop his. His- Why is he laughing.  

“ _You’re_ still here.” Dipper points out. And - screw it - he flips Bill off. “I’ll try something else next time.”

“Ahem,” Bill clears his throat again, tapping a fist against his chest. “Sure! It’s for ‘casting spirits out’. You’re such an amateur. Of course that wouldn’t get rid of me!”

“You’re a spirit.” Dipper feels oddly defensive. “I know - I thought I did it right.”

Bill shakes his head, like Dipper’s a very, very slow student, and Bill the disappointed teacher.

“Well. Just saying. _Someone_ already told ya this was a dangerous area of study.” He says, grin growing wider.  “Necromancy rule number one." He holds one imperious finger in the air. "Before you try anything, you gotta read the _fine print_.”

“I read everything!”

Bill waves that off, smirking. “Dead wrong, kid.” He points down at the floor. “Take a look.”

Arrogant ass. Thinks he knows everything. Dipper rolls his eyes, looks down.

And stares.

His heart _should_ drop at the sight, but.

He grasps at his chest, and feels nothing there.

“So! Congrats kid! The spirit is ‘cast out’!” Bill beams. He moves in to clap Dipper on the shoulder. “You shoulda read where it’d _come_ from _.”_

“Oh no.” Dipper buries both his hands in his hair, sucking in a breath. “Oh, no, no, no, no.” He tries to breath in again - that wasn’t satisfying, he can’t - a third time, and there’s no air going in, or out, he can't feel it.

“You did a great job!” Bill adds, completely unhelpful. “Not many people could do this at all, much less first try!”

“No.” Dipper repeats, he fumbles at his chest, he falls to his knees. “Oh god, I didn’t mean it.”

The body lies in front of him, splayed out on the ground. Eyes shut, limbs loose.

It has _his_  hair, and _his_ face, and it’s wearing the same stupid shirt Bill gave him, which is-

Dipper surges up, tugging at the cloth on his chest. The same one he’s wearing right now.

The same one he might wear _forever_.

He’s going to be _stuck_ in this, like Bill’s stuck in his own suit. The worst part is it isn’t even Dipper’s shirt he died in, pizza stains and all, it’s gonna be _Bill’s,_ because _nothing changes,_ and _._

“I’m dead,” Dipper says.

That was _Bill’s_ book. _He_ wrote the spell. And Dipper followed it, like an idiot. Now he’s lying there in front of, of, _himself_ , he’s trapped here even worse than he was before. There’s a negative chance he can escape now, ever, because he’s dead, and the worst part is he did it to himself.

“I’m dead.” And he looks up at Bill, with slow disbelief. “I died.”

The smack against the back of Dipper’s head hurts. Dipper winces, holds a hand against it. Great, even things in death can hurt.

Even worse, Bill’s _laughing_ at this.  Because he’s an asshole.

Dipper can’t do much. He might be a ghost, he might be dead,  but he can reel on Bill, standing up to him.

“How could you-”  Even _give_ Dipper any means to do this, it’s horrible, it’s stupid, and - doesn’t Bill hate death?  This is _bullshit_. He clenches his fists, starts to shout. “You _let_ me _-_ ”

“Ahem,” Bill smacks a hand over Dipper’s mouth - and presses the other against his own,  holding back more insane cackling. He lets Dipper scream against his palm, waits for him to stop.

Dipper doesn’t have the energy to continue for long. He falls silent, breathing hard after a while, and simply looks at his own….

 _Corpse_.

Bill tucks his hands behind his back, standing straight with dignity. And winks. “You’re fine, dumbass.”

Dipper gestures. “Look at-”  
  
“Yeah, _look_ at it.” Bill waves over Dipper’s body. “Notice anything?”

“That I’m _not in it anymore_.” Dipper’s aware he’s starting to sound hysterical - but if there was ever a good time for that, _this_ would be it.

“Yeah, other than that,” Bill says. He grabs Dipper by the chin, forcing him closer, equally amused and annoyed. “Does that seem dead?

The body’s chest rises and falls. Slow, but steady.

Okay. That’s a good sign. Corpses don’t breathe. It’s -

Dipper blinks, shakes his head.

It’s _his_ body, still breathing. That’s great. His heart seems like it’s still beating, and his eyes are closed, but his limbs twitch. Like he’s.

Asleep.

“I’m,” He starts. Hesitates, unsure. “I’m not…”

“You’ve yet to meet your maker. You’re undeparted. Zero buckets were kicked,” Bill finishes, smug. He kicks at Dipper’s body - Dipper moves to intercept - but Bill only nudges it with the toe of his foot. “You _did_ give up the ghost, but that’s exactly what you wanted!” Bill snickers, waves a hand vaguely. “You’re alive, kid! Just a lil… Disconnected at the moment.”

Dipper watches his own chest rise, and fall. He clasps a hand over his own, where he’s still breathing, somewhat. It feels completely different.

“The spell asked for a comfy chair.” Dipper says, and winces belatedly. He landed on plush carpet, but his body still made an audible thump. That might hurt, later. “I should’ve sat down first.”

“Ha! No kidding!” Bill leans over, slapping his thigh as he starts laughing in earnest. "I got a couple lumps on the head before I found that one out.”

“Thanks, Bill.” Dipper says, and kneels by his body. He has bigger issues to deal with than an insane poltergeist now, surprisingly. “Now I know why you’re so braindamaged.”

And urgh, it sends an odd shiver through him, when he touches his own back.  It feels solid to the touch, and warm. He’s already having an out-of body experience, this somehow makes it weirder.

“You tried to banish me, ended up throwing out your body with the bathwater, and _I’m_ the one that’s braindamaged?” Bill raises an eyebrow. “When _I_ did this crap, I knew what I was getting into.”

“Shut up.” Dipper pokes at his body. It feels like he _should_ feel it, but there's nothing. It’s deeply unnerving.

“Gotta admit, you’re taking this pretty well.” Bill sounds. Not amused, or approving. Evaluating, maybe. “I’m surprised.”

“You already told me you didn’t want me dead.” Dipper shrugs, stands back up. And stumbles. Part of his foot has phased through the floor, which. Is cool, but also _really_ weird, and it’s somewhat stuck?  Dipper shakes his leg until it pops free.

Bill snorts, amused at Dipper’s ghostly incompetence. Dipper flips him off, and takes a few more, careful steps. 

Only Dipper’s still _alive_.

He’s… semi-dead. Definitely out of his body. But alive. Just. Disconnected.

Bill makes things explode, he ruins electricity. Bill made stuff move in the library. If Dipper’s, temporarily, a ghost, then -

Dipper walks over to one of the stacks of book Bill made, and waves a hand. Nothing happens. He heads closer, gestures again. Bill’s made the exact same move, Dipper saw it, and he made this seem easy. Trying again - Nothing happens.

After a few seconds of flapping his hands at this stupid book stack, Dipper barely manages to lift the cover of one of them, before it falls back down, with a spiteful little ‘clap’ of leather binding against paper.

Dipper tenses. Fine, if it’s going to do that, then. He tries to shove the books over by hand.

He phases through it, completely, nearly falls on his face, except gravity doesn’t apply when you’re dead, or at least spiritual - Dipper kicks his legs, floating mid-fall, stuck in the air, he flails -

And hears Bill almost helpless with laughter, somewhere behind him. 

Which is another reason Bill's intolerable. He’s had a century to learn this, while Dipper’s had less than two minutes! He scrambles to figure out how to stand again.

He finds the floor after most of a minute of struggling. Sort of. Dipper plants his feet. But since he can’t feel anything, he has to keep looking down, making sure he’s actually touching it instead of drifting through it.

“Okay, this has been. Uh. Interesting.” Dipper says, finally. Ghost powers? Possibly cool. Being a ghost? _Definitely_ not. “I think I’m done now.”

Bill’s weirdly quiet.

“Bill?” Dipper turns, careful to keep himself from floating up, or down.

There’s his body, still on the floor. Breathing slowly. Dipper frowns. He didn’t know he snored that badly. Maybe Mabel had a point.

“Bill?” He calls again, looking around the room. Stacks of books, the furniture, the shelves, the lights, the dust in the air drifting through like little white dots in the light.

No Bill. The library's empty.

Dipper swears. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. It feels… muffled. Dampened, somewhat. He _can_ feel it, but it’s like touching through thick cloth - all pressure, no texture. He tries to take in a calming breath, and fails.

“Okay, no Bill, no book,” Dipper mutters. He rubs at his eyes, turns towards the bookshelves. “No idea what I’m doing.”

What he _does_ have is a body. And an endless library of resources, even if Bill decided to fuck off during the single solitary moment that Dipper _didn’t_ want him to.

He perks up.

Bill’s already arranged all this information for him. It’s lying right in front of him, in weird stacks. Dipper claps his hands  together, rubbing them. He can get the hang of this. If _Bill_ can do it, Dipper can learn to do it even better. 

“Okay,” Dipper mutters. He manages, with significant effort, to finally flip open the cover of one book. He beams in triumph. “Now. How to get a spirit _into_ a body.” It can’t be _that_ hard. He managed the opposite by accident.

“Oh, that’s easy!” says a familiar voice.

No. An unfamiliar voice.

A voice that’s _both_ , actually. It’s slow, it’s casual as anything.

And hugely, infuriatingly smug.

Dipper reels at the sound, backing up in surprise, rising a few inches in the air. And he swears.

Because his body’s _moving_.

He watches himself prop his torso up further. Rising from an elbow braced against the ground, to being pushed up by a shaky arm, to stumbling up, standing on two unbalanced legs.

His body staggers. It stumbles, and braces itself against an armchair, shaking its head. Once it finds balance -  it stretches, long and luxuriously, joints cracking in soft pops - it groans in pleasure. Dipper winces.

This is off, this is wrong, this is bad, and quickly eclipsing ‘ghost kidnapped’ on his previously short list of ‘weirdest things that have ever happened to me’.

“What the fuck,” Dipper says.

The head rises up, and meets Dipper’s eyes. Its pupils dilated, mouth twitching. It laughs softly.

“Something wrong, kid? You surprised?” His body asks, and claps hands to its cheeks, in mock surprise. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Dipper stills in place.

Oh no.

He should have guessed. He should have _known_.

“ _You_.” Dipper grimaces. “Again.”

“Ah, you got me.” Bill says. It comes out of Dipper’s mouth, in Dipper’s voice. "Real impressed with your wits, kid!"

"But-" Dipper splutters, he clenches his fists. "Bill, that's _my_ body." 

"Necromancy rule number two, Pines." Bill spreads his stolen arms - _Dipper's_ arms - and winks. The grin on the stolen face spreads so wide it looks like it hurts.

“Don't leave your possessions unattended.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I'd write a story with ghost Bill and NOT have some Bipper.
> 
> Things are gonna get fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, let's see where this AU goes.


End file.
